


Haaave You Met Steve?

by theappleppielifestyle



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: AU, Crossover, F/M, HIMYM AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-29
Updated: 2012-09-05
Packaged: 2017-11-13 02:58:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 46,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/498689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theappleppielifestyle/pseuds/theappleppielifestyle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Kids, I’m going to tell you an incredible story. The story of how I met your father.”</p><p>An Avengers/HIMYM crossover.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tony Is A Fucking Idiot (who steals blue french horns)

“Kids, I’m going to tell you an incredible story. The story of how I met your father.”

“Are we being punished for something?”

“No.”

“Is this going to take a while?”

“Yes. And before you start complaining, I’m changing everyone’s names, okay?”

“Dad, it’s going to be obvious who-”

“Twenty-five years ago, before I was ‘dad,’ I had this whole other life. It was 2012, I was 24, struggling as an artist, living with your uncle Clint. My life was good. Then your uncle Clint went screwed the whole thing up.”

-

“Natasha,” Clint says, straight-faced and sweating bullets, “Will you. Marry. Me.”

“Yes,” Steve says. “And that’s all there is to it! She puts on the ring, you pop the champagne, you-”

“-have sex on the kitchen floor.”

“Don’t have sex on the kitchen floor, I just cleaned it.”

Clint pulls the finger at him, and eases himself to his feet, shoving the ring in his pocket. “No, but seriously, was that okay?”

Steve grins. “It was _great_ , Clint. You guys are going to be really happy together.”

Clint tries for a smirk and an eyeroll, but the smile comes out shakily. “Yeah, I hope so. Just. Uh. Nervous, you know?”

“I really, really don’t,” Steve says happily. “Jeez, you guys are going to be so-”

“Steve, if you start clapping like a retarded seal again, I will cut you.”

“I didn’t _clap_ , I just-”

“Put your hands together really enthusiastically and repeatedly,” Clint cuts him off. “Come on, let’s go to SHIELD.”

-

“No,” Tony says immediately.

Clint cocks an eyebrow. “Dude, this was why we didn’t tell you bef-”

“No,” Tony repeats. “No, no, _no_. Come _on_! You’re _proposing_? _Seriously_?”

Steve bites the inside of his cheek to smother the laugh. “If you put any more emphasis on any more of those words, I swear to god you’re going to dissolve in a fit of exclamation marks.”

“Fuck you, Rogers,” Tony says. “Clint, you’re killing us here. Me and Steve _implore_ you-”

“It’s ‘Steve and I,’ and I’ve been waiting for Clint to propose to her for three years.”

“Again, fuck you,” Tony says, still not looking at him and instead channelling all of his power into the puppy-eyes he’s beaming at Clint. “Come _oooon_. Marriage? _Really_? Does she even want to get married?”

Clint starts to fidget slightly, and Steve shoots Tony a look that he pretends not to see.

Clint makes a face.“Yeee-eees?”

“Wow. That sounded certain.”

“Shut up, Tony,” Steve says, watching Clint’s shoulders fold inwards.

He kicks Tony’s shin under the table, and Tony yelps, jolting his breadsticks everywhere.

Tony has slipped into their lives without them even noticing- he just appeared a few years ago, and they still know next to nothing about him. Hell, Steve doesn’t even know his last name.

He had just slid into Steve’s booth, propped his arm up around his shoulder and announced, “Steve, I am going to teach you how to live.”

At Steve’s blank stare, Tony had grinned. “Tony. We met at the urinal.”

“Oh.”

“Lesson one,” Tony had said, putting up a finger. “Lose the stubble. It doesn’t go with your suit.”

“I don’t have a suit.”

“Lesson two, get a suit. Suits are cool.” Tony had re-adjusted his arm so it fit more comfortably against Steve’s neck, and over the years, Steve has gotten kind of used to it- Tony fitting, almost seamlessly, into wherever he wants to be.

Steve glares, eyes flicking between Tony and Clint, who is now half-slumped over the table.

Tony just shrugs. “What? I’m stopping him from making a horrendous mistake that he’ll thank me for one day.”

“He’s just getting married, Tony.”

“You see?” Tony sits up, his sunglasses- which he still refuses to take off, even though they’re inside SHIELD, their usual bar- sliding down his nose. “That’s what they want you to think! First it’s just marriage, but then they’re moving away and having kids, and being all _domestic_ , and wearing those horrible, tacky suits-”

“You always wear suits, Tony.”

“ _Classy_ ones. This one’s a designer brand, do you know how much it-”

“No, and I don’t care,” Steve says flatly. “Do you want to be Clint’s best man or not?”

Tony falters, something flickering in his face. “You- wait, what?”

“Steve’s going to be my best man,” Clint says into the table. “You’re going to be- be- the guy who stands next to him, what’s that one called?”

“…The groom?”

“No, the other not-getting-married guy. Like a bridesmaid, but guy version.” Clint lifts his head enough to smirk. “You can still wear a dress if you want.”

Tony sniffs. “I’m wisely going to ignore that. Steve, if you’re done with this madness, we’re going to play ‘haaaaave you met St-”’

“ _No_ , Tony, I don’t-”

He holds back a sigh as Tony grabs him by his shoulders and hauls him up, steering him until he’s over by the bar.

“Tony-”

“Shhhh, Cap.”

“That nickname doesn’t even-”

“You’re the Captain of the group, and you once saved a cat out of a tree and gave it back to its owner, who happened to be an old lady. You’re Captain fucking America, whether you like it or not, now look pretty.”

“ _Tony_ -”

“Haaaaave you met Steve?”

Steve’s smile looks painful, he’s pretty sure, and the woman he’s directing it at looks more bewildered than ‘charmed by his dashing good looks and great dick,’ as Tony always put it.

“Uh,” Steve says.

Tony claps him on the shoulder. “Steve here’s a fireman. He saved a kitten from a burning building yesterday.”

The woman looks at him doubtfully. “Uh-huh.”

“He’s- he’s stretching the truth a little bit,” Steve tries, saying it through his teeth, before pulling Tony over to the side. “Tony, seriously, can we just-”

“You’re always going on about your epic journey to find the ‘dame’ you want to spend the rest of your life with, get married, have kidlets, the whole enchilada, so-”

Steve blinks. “You were just encouraging Clint to run in the opposite direction.”

Again, Tony falters- but then there’s that smile that Steve is sure he’s learned from supermodels, and it’s as gorgeous and freaking distracting as it’s always been. “Well, duh. I said you _wanted_ it, I’m not saying I’m helping you into that travesty. I just want you to get laid. Which would happen a _lot_ more often if you would suit up when I told you to.”

Steve just gives him a look that Tony gets from him more often than he should- a combination of exasperation, sternness and something else that Steve doesn’t really want to know that probably shows up somewhere behind his eyes.

“I’m not going to _suit up_ ,” Steve says. “Now come on, we have to go and convince Clint not to throw away the ring that cost him a year and half of his paycheck.”

“Mmm,” Tony says. “Which is really, _really_ sad, if you ask me. Those diamonds are tiny as fu-”

“What the heck do you even do for a _job_ , Christ.” Steve shakes his head, but he’s smiling. It’s kind of hard not to when Tony’s looking all rumpled and bothered, with that small crease in his forehead.

But then Tony grins again, the lines disappearing and coming up near his eyes. “I’m actually surprised you haven’t figured it out yet, honeybun. Let’s go and comfort Clint and his tiny, pathetic little ring-”

“Don’t say that when he’s in earshot, Tony.”

“So sensitive,” Tony sighs. He and Steve slide into the seats opposite to Clint, and Tony props his elbows up on the table and leans on his hands. “So, Clint, about your piece of shit ring-”

It’s totally worth Steve pushing his elbows out of the way so he smashes his chin into the breadstick basket.

-

So Clint is bullshitting his way through not being nervous, Thor- who makes a mysterious appearance that has nothing to do with Tony getting bored and texting him halfway through Clint’s half-winded speech about how far gone he is for Natasha, because weird (and awesome) things always happen to Thor- is clapping him on the back, which is probably causing him more harm than the nervous jitters are doing, and Steve is- Steve is-

Tony follows Steve’s gaze, craning his neck, and- oh.

Oh.

“Oh,” Tony says, and Clint stops long enough to see Tony’s expression, which Tony hastily rearranges.

“Uh,” Tony says. “Steve, my man, you’re drooling.”

“M’whaa?” Steve looks down and yes, he is drooling onto the table. He flushes, scrubs the back of his hand across his chin and swabs the table with a napkin.

Tony tries for one of his trademark lewd grins, but with the way Clint and Thor are looking at him- a mixture of confused and pitying- he’s failing miserably.

Not like Steve is peeling his eyes away from the girl long enough to notice, but whatever.

He sucks in a breath. “Whoa, she’s a babe. Want me to introduce y-”

“ _No_ ,” Steve cuts him off. “No _way_. I can talk to her myself, I can-”

“Go do it then.”

Steve looks like an adorable, fluffy, scared shitless deer caught in the headlights. “I will. Give me a second.”

Clint, Thor and Tony all stare at him, until Steve swallows and unclenches his hands.

“Okay,” Steve says. “Any minute now.”

Another seven seconds pass, and Clint snorts into his beer. “Dude, you’re so-”

“Lucky you have a wingman like me,” Tony says breezily, and hoists Steve up by his elbow. “Come on, lets go meet the future Mrs. Rogers.”

Steve, however, literally digs in his heels. “ _No_ , Tony, I can- I can- oh, god, please don’t make me, I’ll make an idiot out of myself, please, Tony, don’t-”

“You’re adorable,” Tony shoots at him, and then skids him to a stop in front of the mystery woman who he hates on principal, with her stupid brown hair and stupid brown eyes and stupid green fucking dress, making her look stupidly pretty and Tony hates everything, holy shit.

He dangles Steve in front of her, and tries not to think _you better appreciate the ever loving fuck out of him, you frigid bitch, go die in a pit of lava_. “Haaaaave you met Steve?”

Steve looks like he’s going to swallow his tongue. “Hi,” he chokes.

The woman looks- amused? “Hello,” she says, and she’s _British_ , fuck, of course she’s British, Tony hates every British person, ever-

“Hi,” Steve says again, his blush staining his entire face an embarrassing shade of red, and Tony resists the urge to wince.

“He’s intimidated because you’re so hot,” he offers, and Steve whirls on him, hissing, “Tony, don’t disrespect her like that, you can’t just-”

“No, no,” The woman says, biting down on a smile. “It’s fine. I’m drop-dead gorgeous, I know. I’m Peggy, by the way.”

_Peggyyyyy_ , Tony seethes silently, and in the corner of his eye, he’s pretty sure he can see Clint and Thor trying not to burst into hysterical laughter.

Peggy holds out her hand, and Steve stares at it for a few seconds before snapping into action and shaking it.

“Steve,” he says.

“Uh,” she says. “I know. He said.”

“Who said,” Steve says, dazed, and ouch, that was a kick to the nads. Then: “Oh, Tony! Oh, yeah, he’s- yeah. Tony. He’s. Great.”

Peggy nods. “I’ll take your word for it, then.”

A pause, and Peggy looks at him expectantly, not even bothering trying not to smile. Or rather, at this point, laugh, because Steve is still staring gormlessly, and Tony is just grateful that he’s not gaping.

“This young man,” Tony cuts in, “would be ever so grateful if you’d accept his invitation for a coffee date. Right now.”

Steve says, “I would?”

“You would,” Tony says through the corner of his mouth, and smiles at Peggy. “Come on. Gorgeous guy like this? He’ll treat you like a lady, open doors for you, the whole thing. He’ll probably pull a sweeping, grand gesture in the middle of your date. Come on, you can’t turn those baby blues down.”

Peggy tilts her head, considering. “They _are_ very blue. And I do love grand gestures.”

_Damn straight, bitch. I mean, nice person. Fuck. You seem like a nice person. I loathe you and everything about you_. “Great! So, that’s a yes?”

She shrugs, pretty and perfect and the personification of everything Tony has ever hated, ever. “Might as well. Can’t turn down those baby blues, as you said.”

Tony grins. “You won’t regret it, I promise.”

He links Steve’s arm into hers, which jolts Steve out of his head- he starts stammering nervously, and Peggy can’t hold back her laugh this time. She squeezes his hand. “Don’t worry; I’ll be gentle with you.”

Tony wants to bite her.

She leads Steve out of the bar, and Steve doesn’t stop staring the entire way, and Tony has to physically stop himself from running over, grabbing Steve, and saying, ‘nope, sorry, I take it back, you can’t have him.’

But he lets them leave, and the door closes, and he stands there awkwardly for a few seconds before making his feet move and walking back over to the booth.

He grins again, but it comes out as a cringe of eternal pain. “I request the highest of fives.”

“Dude,” Clint says.

“I would give you said five,” Thor says, and he’s looking at Tony pityingly, Thor is looking at Tony pityingly, how low has he sunk, “But something tells me this is not the time for it, friend Tony.”

“Duuuude,” Clint says again. “I thought _I_ had the biggest issues in my love life, what the fuck, man?”

Tony’s mouth twitches. “She seems- nice.”

“You looked like you wanted to brutally maim her for a second there, man.”

“I have no idea what would give you that idea, Barton.”

“Maybe how your eyes turned red and started glowing.”

“Lies,” Tony says, and almost reaches for Thor’s bottle of beer on default before stopping himself, because he- _llo_ , not going down that road again. Besides, it was his fault, anyway- he’s the one who set them up. If it weren’t for him, Steve would have just drooled in her direction until she had left.

Fuck, why didn’t he just let him drool?

“I’m going to check everything’s okay with them,” Tony says suddenly.

Clint grabs at him as he starts to get up. “No, Tony, holy shit, you’re going to fling yourself off the Brooklyn bridge when you see them making out, Thor, stop him-”

Thor gets up, but Tony ducks and weaves and does a fucking ninja-roll out the door, and is sprinting- sprinting, in his multi-thousand dollar suit, the things he goes for love- uh, friendship- bros _\- fuck his life_ , seriously- before either of them can catch up.

-

He runs until he sees them at a streetlight, before he stops, panting- they turn the corner into a coffeeshop- cental perk, or some shit- and Tony presses himself up against the wall, trying to get his breath back.

“Fuck my life,” he wheezes, and tries not to die on the sidewalk.

He peeks around the corner, and they’re- sitting at a table, chatting innocently.

Peggy adjusts her earrings and it makes Tony hate her even more for no fucking reason.

“I,” Tony declares, “am a fucking idiot.”

He pulls out his phone and hits the second number on speed dial- the first is Pepper, because she fixes things, like getting sued and alcohol poisoning- and watches as Steve apologizes- he can’t hear him, but come on, it’s Steve- and flips his phone open.

“Tony, what-”

“Grand gesture,” Tony says, and tries not to wheeze too much. “I promised her a grand gesture. You, by extension-”

“Why the heck-”

“Do you want to impress this girl or not?”

A pause, and then: “Of course, but what are you-”

“What has she said so far?”

“She- sorry, Peggy, can I just-? Thanks so much, I’m so sorry-” a rustle, and Tony watches as Steve slips around the corner of the shop. “I don’t know, she told me that she’s a journalist, she likes black coffee, she moved here when she was fifteen-”

“Nothing I can use, big guy, come on-”

“I don’t know! She- she’s an only child, she loves that stupid blue French horn hanging in the window of that place a block back, she hates green tea-”

“Wow, you actually listen to shit. French horn, got it.” Tony snaps his phone shut before he hears the rest of Steve’s ‘Tony, what are you-’ and vault himself over a homeless guy’s sign, moving towards the shop with the blue French horn in the window.

It’s a- a smoothie shop? Why the fuck-

_I’m never going to need this smoothie shop_ , Tony assures himself, and gives the shop assistant his best ‘leave me the fuck alone’ smile when she approaches him.

“Hello, sir, can I help you?”

“Nope,” he says, making his mouth pop on the ‘p’. “Hey, what’s that?”

He points towards the shelf behind them, and when the woman looks, he makes a run for the window. He grabs the horn, gets his tie stuck on the hook, rips it out of the wall and leaves with the horn and the piece of the mantle it was attached to, which also has his tie shredded in it, making it out the door before he starts getting chased by a pissed-off Asian guy who probably owns the place.

“PUT THAT BACK, YOU FUCKING-”

“PEOPLE DO CRAZY SHIT FOR LOVE,” Tony yells back, and does the same duck-and-weave thing he used to throw Thor off his trail, getting lost in the crowd and eventually losing the angry Asian guy in midst of a fat woman wearing jeggings who spills ice cream over his already fucked-to-shit tie.

He runs until he’s at least a block away from both them and the coffee shop he needs to get to, and then he’s standing in the middle of a zebra crossing, panting and holding a fucking blue French horn.

“What the fuck is my _life_ , seriously,” Tony pants, getting to the other side of the road to lean on a streetlamp.

-

When he finally gets back to the coffee shop- without running into the angry Asian guy, thank god- Peggy or Steve aren’t there.

Tony looks down at the blue French horn and considers how pissed the Asian guy will be if he gives it back now.

“Tony?”

Tony startles, and whirls around. “Steve, what-”

Steve looks like he’s going to either throw up or fling himself off of something, and Tony snaps his mouth shut. “I- fuck, what happened? Did she touch your no-no places?”

Steve doesn’t even have the sense to glare, which means something’s really wrong. “I- god, I’m an idiot-”

“What happened?”

“ItoldherIlovedher,” Steve blurts, and at any other time, Tony would congratulate him on rendering him speechless.

But he gets it together in a few seconds, caught between kneeling over laughing and running over to that fire hydrant and bashing his head in. “You- you _what_? Steve, you’ve known her for half an hour-”

“I _know_ ,” Steve moans, putting his head in his hands. “Jesus, I- she said that my jacket looked nice, and I said that her dress looked nice, and she asked how my coffee was, and I said, ‘I think I’m in love with you.’ Who _does_ that, oh, god, she’s never going to talk to me again-”

Laughing. Definitely laughing. And _then_ bashing his head in. “What did she say?”

“She said, ‘what,’ in this really surprised voice, and god, I don’t blame her, it just slipped out, oh, my god-” he stops, frowns. “Why are you holding the blue French horn?”

Tony doesn’t know what he’s talking about before he looks down and oh, yeah, he’s holding it. “Oh. Oh, that’s, uh-”

And then Steve’s looking at him with this incredulous, disbelieving grin. “You didn’t.”

Tony shakes it slightly. “I, uh. Had to get the pieces of mantle off of it-”

“You _didn’t.”_

“Hey, I got chased down the street by a small, angry Asian guy, you better be thanking me-”

And then Steve’s laughing, bending over and bracing his hands on his knees, practically vibrating with it. “You- oh, god, you- you stole- Tony, Jesus _Christ_ ,” he chokes, eyes watering.

“I’m going to take that as a thank you,” Tony replies triumphantly. “And I got my fucking tie destroyed for it, don’t think we’re not going to have a funeral. So, you’re telling me I got this stupid fucking horn for nothing?”

Steve deflates, and Tony wants to backpedal. “No, I mean- you can still-”

“I don’t know,” Steve says. “She- well, she walked out pretty quickly, so I don’t think she’ll-”

“We’ll call her,” Tony says, fast. “We’ll totally call her, apologize for accidentally telling her you loved her less than an hour after meeting her. She’ll totally understand. Totally.”

“Totally,” Steve giggles, and takes the horn when Tony holds it out. “I- thank you, Tony. We’ll have a funeral for your tie.”

“Damn fucking straight, we will. She was called Bonnie. I’ve had her for three years.”

“That’s not creepy at all.”

Tony grins, and this time it’s genuine, and he doesn’t really know what the fuck he’s feeling at the moment.

-

Steve is trying to get the lighting right on his latest drawing when there’s a knock on the door.

“Just a second,” he calls, distracted, and blows the pencil shaving off the paper before getting up and walking, barefoot, to the door.

He opens it, and blinks.

“Uh,” the guy says. “Is Tony around?”

“Oh. No, he moved out a few months ago- he’s in an apartment a few blocks away, I can give you the address if you want. I’m Steve, by the way.”

Bruce smiles sort of hesitantly. “Thanks. I’m Bruce.”

Steve holds out his hand, and Bruce takes it after a second, shaking it with a firm grip.

“Nice to meet you,” Steve says. “Okay, so Tony-”

-

“And _that_ is how I met-”

“Great, can we go to bed now-”

“-your uncle Bruce.”

“ _Uncle Bruce_? What the hell, dad, you said-”

“Will you relax? I’m getting to it.”

“Daaaad-”

Steve smiles to himself, feeling his smile lines crinkle, looking at his kids faces, the woollen jumpers that Thor had knitted them, the watches that Natasha had given them: a few of the many mementos of the story that he’s lived and loved.

“Like I said- it’s a long story.”


	2. 'But Um.' (or, Pepper Is An Evil Bitch.)

“I hate you,” Steve says again, climbing up the last flight of stairs.

Tony grins and takes the keys out of Steve’s hand, ignoring the death glare he gets in return. “Lies. You love me.”

“You got us _arrested_.”

“I paid them off, we’re cool.”

“What is your _job_ , seriously, you never seem to be working-”

“I work at a toothpaste factory, screwing on toothpaste lids.”

Steve pauses, stills Tony’s hand with his wrist to stop him from putting the key in the lock. “You- did you just quote Charlie and the Chocolate Factory?”

“I might have,” Tony says, waving him off and turning the key in the lock. “But don- OH MY GOD CLINT’S PENIS WHAT THE FUCK.”

He slams the door closed and promptly bursts out laughing at Steve’s face, which looks frozen between horror and embarrassment. Either way, he’s bright red and Tony is laughing so hard he barely hears the shoe hit the door.

“Fuck off,” Natasha’s voice comes through, muffled.

“I second that,” Clint yells. “We’re having newly-engaged-couple sex on the table. Come back later.”

Steve yells back, “CLINT, WE _EAT_ ON THAT TA- wait, you’re engaged? You proposed? You’re _engaged_?”

A pause, and then Natasha yells, “I’d show you the ring, but my hand is in a place that I don’t think you’d want to see.”

“I want to s-”

“Shut up, Tony.”

-

When they get to SHIELD- ‘they’ being Steve and Tony, because Clint and Natasha are otherwise occupied- Thor, Bruce and Darcy are there.

Darcy salutes them with her shot glass when they sit down in the booth. “Heeeey, it’s the men of the hour!”

Steve checks his watch. “Guys, it’s two in the morning, and you have jobs. Why are you-”

“Two,” Bruce says- slurs, really- “Is the time. The _best_ time, ‘cause-”

“What our friends are trying to say,” Thor interrupts, rosy-faced and grinning and less drunk than the both of them even though he’s probably had more than the whole bar put together- “Is that Pepper’s segment of the news is on.”

Tony says, “Ah,” and starts in on the breadsticks.

Steve just looks up at the small, crappy TV in the corner of the bar, where Pepper is smiling and talking to a fat guy in an orange chair. “And this leads to you guys getting paraletically drunk because?”

Tony snorts. “Wow, you really don’t come here early, huh?”

Steve says, “Not ofte-” but is cut off by the entire bar suddenly holding their shot glasses up, yelling, “BUT UM,” and downing them before slapping them back down.

Bruce grins lazily and pats Steve sloppily on the shoulder, the friendliest that Steve’s seen him been in the three weeks that he’s known him. “Drinking gaaaame. She says ‘but um’ a lot, y’know? So we drink. When she says it. But ummmmm.”

“Uh,” Steve says, trying not to let Bruce slide off onto the floor. “Right. Okay. I think you’ve had enough, Bruce.”

“Proooobably,” Bruce says, and then yawns.

Darcy chins herself on the table, one hand in Thor’s hair. “Where’ve _you_ guys been? Missed all the fun.”

“And we’re sorely disappointed that we missed Bruce doing his funky-dance that he always does when he starts to get tipsy,” Tony says. “But there’s always Darcy flashing everyone when she gets to that Nirvana stage of drunk that I sure as fuck hope she’s heading towards.”

“Amen,” Darcy grins, and starts sucking on the end of a breadstick.

“We were at the airport,” Steve says, shooting a side-glare at Tony. “He said he needed to pick someone up.”

Thor leans to the side to give Darcy better access to his, frankly, luscious hair. “And where is this person?”

“They’re not here,” Steve says, still glaring at a smirking Tony. “Because it turns out he meant ‘pick up’ as in _pick up_.”

Bruce frowns into the table, his cheek pressed into the wood. “Like a pickup truck?”

“No, like flirting with someone and getting them to go home with you.”

Bruce starts to giggle, and it’s one of the most adorable things Steve has seen in a while.

“He also got us arrested,” Steve continues darkly, and Tony looks up at him innocently.

Darcy starts to giggle along with Bruce. “How the fuck did he-”

“His luggage started to vibrate,” Steve says, trying not to notice how Tony is stifling a smirk in his hand. “They thought it was a bomb.”

“B’t wouldn’t a bomb tick? Like a ticking thing?”

Tony pulls a face. “Have you ever seen a bomb tick outside of James Bond movies? Nah, it was just a vibrator.”

Bruce and Darcy burst into hysterical laughter that only drunk people can do, which involves a lot of wheezing and half-crying.

Tony grins around his breadstick. “What? I didn’t know what the person would be into. I was keeping my options open.”

“A valiant try, friend Tony.”

“Damn straight,” Tony says, and nudges Steve with his shoulder, who is trying not to flush but is failing miserably. “Y’know, Cap, I think this is the most times I’ve ever seen you blush in one night. And that’s counting that night you walked in on Tasha na-”

“How about we call everyone a cab,” Steve blurts, still determinedly not looking at Tony.

“One more round,” Darcy says, holding up her hand. “She’s gonna say it, I can feel it, it’s-”

“-as your first project,” Pepper says onscreen.

“Wait for iiiiit,” Darcy says, her hand hovering over her shot glass.

“-I’m sure, but, um-”

The bar erupts in “BUT UUUUUUUM,” and Steve and Tony look at each other as everyone drinks.

Darcy nudges Tony with her glass. “Hey, y’ wanna drink?”

“No,” Tony and Steve say at the same time, and Thor and Bruce stare at them.

Steve glances at Tony- he’s smiling that stiff smile that he sometimes gets, and Steve has never really gotten over hating it.

He still remembers Tony’s awkward stance when he had said, “I’m, uh, a recovering alcoholic.”

And then the five seconds of silence before Steve’s incredulous, “We’ve been hanging out at a bar almost every night for _eight months_.”

Then their reluctant laughter, which had started off small and had snowballed into them both lying in the alley, giggling until they couldn’t breathe.

“He’s not thirsty,” Steve says, and watches Tony’s mouth quirk upwards.

Darcy raises her eyebrows. “Oooookaaaaay. Well, more for meeee!”

She tosses her hair over her shoulder dramatically, and in doing so, careens off of the seat and onto the floor.

“Wheeeee,” She says weakly, letting Steve and Tony haul her back onto the seat.

“Yeah, you’ve definitely had enough,” Steve says. “I’ll call you guys a cab. Thor, can you make sure that they don’t- that they don’t- god, I don’t know, make out with the cab driver or something?”

“Done that,” Tony says, and Steve ignores him.

“I will do my best, friend Steve,” Thor says gravely.

Steve nods at him as he presses his cellphone to his ear.

-

When Steve opens the door, Coulson gives him a tired glare.

Steve shrugs apologetically. “I got Bruce to agree not to try to make out with you. I don’t know about Bruce, though.”

“He’s handsy when he’s drunk,” Tony supplies, and waves. “Hey, Coulson. How’s our favourite cab driver?”

“Rueing the day he quit his day job,” Coulson replies. “Get in.”

“Oh, I’m staying over at Tony’s, so you’ll only have to make two stops,” Steve says.

Then, when Coulson gives him another look, like _, I am so ashamed you have sunk that low_ , he starts spluttering: “No, not like- Clint and Natasha just got engaged, so they’re going to be, um. Busy. All night.”

“Tell them I said congratulations.”

“I will. Come on, guys, get in the- Darcy, keep your hands to yourself.”

“But he’s so preeeetty,” Darcy slurs, wobbling, her cheek pressed into Thor’s chest.

“As are you, fair lady,” Thor says. “But alas, I am besotted with your dear Jane. Please remove your hand from my tightey whiteys.”

Tony doesn’t even bother holding back his snort of laughter at that, and helps Bruce into the car with minimal groping on Bruce’s part.

Steve gets in last, pressed between Darcy and the door of the cab, and curses his growth spurt when he has to wedge his legs against the door to fit.

Coulson already knows where to go, of course- Thor and Darcy live together with Jane, and Tony and Bruce are apparently old college buddies, so they’re bunking together in Tony’s suite for the time being.

Steve’s only stayed over there a few times- once when he was too wasted to go anywhere else, and once when Tony wanted to show him his new TV which filled out an entire wall.

Seriously. They watched ‘Die Hard’ and had to turn it off because one of the other people in the room started having a seizure.

All in all, it’s a weirdly posh apartment, and Steve isn’t jealous at all that Tony is letting Bruce live there 24/7, for as long as he needs.

Nope.

No jealousy whatsoever.

Steve starts to drift off at some point- Coulson’s a great driver, one of the best he’s ever met, except for Bucky- and only notices that he’s fallen asleep when Darcy jogs him awake.

“Moooove,” she says into his shoulder. “Need’a get out.”

“Oh- sorry.” Steve eases the door open and steps out, making sure Darcy doesn’t topple into the gutter when he does. When she’s righted herself and is wobbling towards Thor on dangerously tall high heels, he waves at Thor and gets back into the cab.

Then there’s just him, Tony and Bruce, and Bruce is asleep in the seat between them as Steve leans over.

“Hey, Tony?”

“Mm,” Tony says, looking as tired as he feels, and Steve is suddenly caught in it- the dull wash of the streetlight over his face, his too-pink mouth, his eyes too bright as Coulson turns a corner.

The light casts itself over Tony, over his rumpled suit, his long lashes, his goddamn _eyes_ , and yes, he’s already said that, but good _god_. This is why Tony takes up so much space in his notebooks- he’s not a model, Steve’s pretty sure, but he has what models would kill for, and he does it without even thinking.

And the light is killing him, it’s really killing him, it’s eating him up from the inside out, because it’s falling all over Tony like waves, through the glass and reflecting off skyscrapers and it makes it hard to breathe, because _Christ_ , this is why people become artists: to catch something that you want to keep, but can’t.

That hits too close to home for some reason, but Steve shakes himself out of it when he realizes that he’s been staring at Tony for about eight seconds without saying anything, and Tony is raising his eyebrows at him.

“I, uh,” Steve manages, trying to remember what he was going to say in the first place. “I just wanted to say thanks. For taking my mind off of Peggy. Even if you did get us arrested.”

Tony snorts, and waves his hand dismissively. “We didn’t get _arrested_ arrested, we didn’t go to jail, we didn’t even get handcuffed, that doesn’t even count, think of it as a learning experience-”

“Sure, Tony,” Steve stops him, laughing quietly for Bruce’s benefit.

“Mm,” Tony says again, more to himself, and Steve watches the light fall over him, watches as it engulfs the soft, tumbling lines of Tony’s body, the slack of his hands as they curl in his lap.

“Pepper’s eeeeevil,” Bruce moans suddenly, and Steve startles.

Tony just laughs wearily, patting Bruce on the head. “She sure is, buddy. She sure is.”

Bruce mumbles something and shifts his head closer, making an approving sound in the back of his throat.

Tony moves slightly so he’s angled towards him, and keeps stroking Bruce’s hair.

He catches Steve looking at him with an expectant expression, and says, “If you want to get petted, you have to move your head closer, I can’t reach you from there.”

“Ha, ha,” Steve says. “Hilarious.”

Tony runs his fingers through Bruce’s hair and then resumes petting. “He likes being petted when he’s drunk, okay?”

“Okay.”

A few seconds of contented humming from Bruce, and Tony stops for a second, so Bruce whines low in his throat.

Tony holds out his hand. “You want to try?”

Steve blinks at him. “Do I want to try petting Bruce?”

“It’s just like petting a poodle, only fluffier. His hair is made of kitten fur and unicorn’s mane, I swear to god.”

“I don’t want to pet your friend.”

“He’s your friend, too! You guys are tight.”

“I’ve met him five times.”

“Steeeeve,” Tony whines, sounding almost exactly like Bruce is sounding.

Steve looks at Bruce’s hair, considering.

“Someone pet meeee,” Bruce whines, and Steve finally gives in and starts to stroking his hair cautiously.

Bruce starts making the satisfied humming noise again, and Tony grins. “Pet the back of his neck, he loves it.”

Steve just glares.

Coulson says, “Your group is by far the weirdest regulars I get, and I live in New York.”

“We take that as a compliment, good sir,” Tony replies, and starts petting Bruce, avoiding Steve’s fingers as he does.

Steve just smiles to himself, stupidly grateful for Tony and the dumb adventures he drags Steve along to.


	3. Steve, aka The Slap Bet Commissioner.

“There is no way Natasha got married in a mall.”

Clint nods. “ _Thank_  you, Tony.”

“…Because it’s porn.”

“It’s  _what_ ,” Clint says flatly. “What the  _fuck_ , Tony. No, it’s not. Tasha’s never done  _porn_ , what the fuck-”

Tony shrugs. “I’m just saying, the reason she’s afraid to go to malls is because she totally did porn in a mall.”

“That doesn’t even make  _sense_ ,” Natasha says tightly, and Tony shrugs again.

“Yeah, well, Bruce said it was ‘cause you got married in a mall.”

Natasha turns to Bruce, who recoils slightly.

“You guys are weird,” he squeaks.

“You love it,” Tony says, still not looking away from Natasha. “So, Tasha. Russian porn? I’m impressed.”

Natasha just glares, and Clint waves his hands. “Hello? Future husband here! She didn’t do Russian porn, and she didn’t get married in a mall. Right, Tasha?”

Natasha looks at him. And keeps looking at him.

“…You didn’t do either of those things, right?”

Still looking at him.

Tony says, “Russian porn,” and Clint swipes at him.

“ _She didn’t do Russian porn_ ,” he hisses.

Tony grins. “So you’re saying she got married in a mall?”

Clint starts to protest, but hesitates. “I’m- no, I’m not saying that at all. I’m just saying it’d be better than Russian porn.”

“I hate all men,” Natasha announces. “I’m going to go bitch with Pepper in her makeup chair. See you.”

“We’ll be here,” Tony calls as she makes for the door. “Watching Russian porn.”

“SHE DID NOT STAR IN RUSSIAN-”

 _Slam_.

-

“Natasha starred in Russian porn,” Tony declares happily as he sits down in the booth next to Steve, who promptly starts to choke on his beer.

Tony whacks him on the back, and smiles nicely at Clint, who is glaring.

“She  _didn’t_ ,” Clint says. “She got married in a mall.”

Steve starts choking again, and Tony whacks him harder until Steve chokes, “ _Stop_ , Christ, you’re not helping,” and coughs until it finally subsides.

Bruce sits quietly and starts to drink his beer, when Darcy says, “We found out a gay porn star is using Steve’s full name as a screen name.”

Steve starts to choke again, managing, “God, Darcy, you can’t just-”

Tony is suspiciously still, hand frozen in mid-whack. “Does he look like him?”

Steve looks up, suddenly over choking. “I- what? No! He’s a redhead, he’s-”

“You watch gay porn?”

Steve dissolves into barely coherent, indignant splutters, his face bright red.

“Breathe,” Darcy tells him. “Steve didn’t find him, Tony, I did.”

“You watch-”

“Hell yes,” Darcy says. “Who doesn’t love some good guy-on-guy action? Mmm,  _rimming_. He- _llo_.”

Tony looks torn between jubilation and confusion. “Amen, sister.”

“Oh, god,” Steve says, still half-choking, folding his arms on the table and hiding his face in them.

“You guys are weird,” Bruce mumbles into his glass.

“You get used to it,” Clint assures him, and waves the waitress over for another round. “Hey, Maria. The usual.”

“You got it,” Maria says, tapping her fingers on the counter before slipping behind it.

From the table next to them, there’s a chorus of, “BUT UUUUUUM,” before all seven of them down their shots, whooping.

Bruce checks the clock. “It’s not even 5 in the afternoon, what are they-”

“Pepper’s show got a different slot today,” Darcy says, motioning towards the TV where Pepper is smiling and leaning towards a woman dressed in plaid.

Tony catches her saying, “-espect you very much, but, um-”

He braces himself, and the inevitable, “BUT UUUUUM,” echoes around the bar, followed by the college kids whooping. Again.

“Okay,” Darcy says, leaning over the table. “Now that the gay porn talk is done with- or dormant, at least, I like to think there’s always potential for a gay porn discussion, we’ll chat later, Tony- what the fuck were you two talking about?”

“Natasha starred in Russian porn-”

“Oh, so we’re switching from gay porn to straight porn. I see how it is.”

“She  _didn’t_ ,” Clint says, giving Tony a glare that could probably kill small animals. “She got married in a mall. Could even still  _be_  married, which-”

Steve frowns. “Who the heck gave you that idea?”

Clint waves his arms helplessly. “ _Tasha_ ,” he says. “She refuses to go to a mall, and she won’t tell us why.”

“…So the obvious conclusion is marriage or porn.”

“Well,  _duh_ ,” Bruce says, half-mockingly, like he’s wondering how the hell he got here in the first place.

“It’s totally porn. Did you see how she blushed, all that  _shame_? Our friend Natasha has starred in PORN- wait for it- OGPRAHY.”

“Tony.  _She did not. Do. Porn_.”

“Want to bet on that?”

Clint sits up straight, staring Tony right in the eye. Which isn’t hard, because no matter what Tony says, he’s shorter than everyone at the table, including Darcy.

“Yes,” Clint says, and Tony looks up in interest.

“I,” Clint says, “Declare a slap-bet.”

Tony breaks out into a grin, and Bruce looks at him questioningly.

“ _Fuck_  yes,” Tony says, holding out his hand. “I accept that challenge.”

“Okay, since no-one else is going to say it,” Bruce says, letting his hands fall to the table, “What’s a slap-bet?”

Steve brings the bowl of breadsticks so it’s underneath his crumb-range, picking out the one closest to him. “It’s a stupid bet where the winner gets to slap the loser in the face, as hard as they can.”

Clint tilts his head. “I’ll let you be slapbet commissioner.”

Steve swallows the rest of his breadstick. “Oh, god, yes.”

“You guys are  _weird_ ,” Bruce repeats.

“I’ll start exercising my hand,” Tony says, leering.

Clint wrinkles his nose. “Dude, I don’t want to know about that.”

“I’ll exercise my hand while checking all the Russian porn for your fiancé.”

“Have I mentioned how much I despise you?”

“Not lately.”

“Aw. Well, here’s my weekly ‘I hate you.’”

“Feeling’s mutual, Barton.”

Steve rolls his eyes, finishing his breadstick and licking his fingers.

He almost draws blood via biting down, hard, onto his index finger, when onscreen, Pepper yells, “AND IF ANY OF MY BATSHIT FRIENDS ARE WATCHING-”

“Oh, god,” Tony says, looking over towards the confused college kids.

“But, um,” Pepper says. “But um, but um, but um, butumbutumbutumbutum. BUT UM, BUT UM, BUT UM. BUT.  _UM_.”

The college kids’ expressions have dissolved from confusion to terror, and at this point, the entire bar has their necks craned to watch them.

“Fuck,” one of them says flatly.

“Do it,” Tony yells, and a few of them turn to look at him.

“It’s the rules,” Clint yells. “You have to drink. Don’t dishonour the game, guys.”

The college kids look towards their shots, then at the screen, then at Tony’s table.

Then, one of them slowly lifts their shot high above her head, like a trophy. “But um.”

“But um,” another one of them says, sounding a bit scared, and downs her shot.

“But um,” another one of them says, and drinks. Then drinks again. And again.

Tony hums happily. “Ahh. College.”

-

When Steve knocks on his door at 10 PM the next day, Tony opens the door in his pyjamas.

“You look weirdly giddy,” Tony says.

Steve opens his mouth to say something, but what comes out is: “You sleep in a suit?”

Tony cocks an eyebrow. “A hot, screwable blonde could knock on my door. Oh, wait-”

“Shut up,” Steve flushes, and then clears his throat, the giddy look returning. “Peggy called me.”

Aaaaand there goes his good day.

“Oh,” Tony says. “Oh. Okay. I. That’s- that’s great, Steve, what happened?”

“I don’t know,” Steve says, and then giggles.  _Giggles_.

That bitch made him  _giggle_.

Tony feels the irrational hatred return, which sucks, because yesterday he had thought of her and hadn’t wanted to rip her face off.

Much.

“She just called me, and said she was sorry for leaving like that.”

Tony makes a face. “A month after leaving?”

“Well, yeah, but-”

“Still great,” Tony says, and claps his hands together. “Good to see you all. Giddy. Uh. So, are you finally going to get laid?”

“ _Tony_.”

And the sad thing is, Tony would take that disappointed, stern tone over anyone else’s happy voice, any day.

Wow. He’s really and truly fucked, and not in a good way.

He shoves his hands in his pockets, grinning. “What? I’ve known you for almost five years and I’ve only seen you get laid, like, three times.”

And now Steve is looking at him weirdly, which is weird, because Tony isn’t doing anything weird, so it’s weird that Steve-

“Are you okay?”

Tony almost starts laughing. Actually, he lets out a half-hysterical giggle.

See? He can giggle, too. Go fuck yourself, Peggy.

“Am I-  _what_? Seriously? I’m rich, I’m gorgeous, I’m not thirty yet, I had a threeway last week, and I’m currently making my way through Russian porn to find one of my hot friends. I’m  _awesome_ , Steve.”

He grins again, but Steve doesn’t look convinced.

“Uh-huh,” he says. “Right. So, you want to go and get coffee?”

“Shouldn’t you be getting coffee with  _Peggy_?”

And okay, he didn’t mean for that to slip out. He starts to backpedal- “I mean, not- uh, I’m happy for you, Cap, really- good- I think I’m going to stay home and watch porn, bye-”

“Tony,” Steve says, surprised, holding the door open, even though Tony is practically leaning his entire weight on it. “Are you- jealous?”

“No,  _what_ , fuck,” Tony scoffs, but his voice goes kind of high. “I’m not  _jealous_ , I helped you get her! I’m the reason you even  _spoke_ , remember?”

Steve just looks at him, his eyes soft and dumb and fucking amazing, and Tony sort of hates everything right now but he can’t when Steve’s looking at him like that, fuck.

Then Steve grins, and Tony literally gets lightheaded. “You’re adorable.”

“’m not adorable,” Tony manages, dazed, and what the everloving  _fuck_ , who disarms people with their smile? Who has the superpower of smiling? Like, flying, he gets. Super strength, sure. Smiling, what the  _fuck_.

“You’d have a stupid superhero name,” Tony says. “Like, ‘smileyman.’ Who names themselves ‘smileyman?’ That’s stupid. You’re stupid.”

Steve blinks.

“Coffee,” Tony says, and goes to grab his coat.

-

Because Peggy is an evil bitch who deserves to rot in hell, and is now apparently going to see Steve on Wednesday, Tony forgets all about the slapbet until he walks into Steve and Clint’s apartment, sees Clint, realizes that he looks incredibly slappable at the moment, walks up to him and slaps him in the face.

Clint reels back. “What the  _fuck_ -”

“She wasn’t married,” Tony says happily. “I checked the databases in Russia. Your fiancé is a porn star, Barton.”

Bruce raises his hand slowly. “Tony, that slap wasn’t approved by the slapbet commissioner.”

Everyone turns to Steve.

“I’ll allow it,” Steve says after a second, but he’s frowning.

Natasha walks out, sees everyone, and starts to walk back into her room, but Tony grabs her arm. “Ah, ah, ah. I found something I think we’d all like to see.”

“Tony,” Natasha says warningly.

“A nice young man in Malaysia emailed me a video with a lovely lady called Natasha in it. Or should I say… Natasha  _Sparkles_?”

Natasha has gone rigid. “Tony, I swear to god, if you play that video-”

“Tasha,” Clint says, looking more hurt than he did from the slap.

Natasha twitches. “Clint, before you watch this, I want you to know that I was young.”

“They always are,” Tony says, typing.

“I didn’t know any better,” Natasha says.

“They never do,” Tony sighs into his hand, before pressing play. “Gather round, everyone.”

No-one moves forwards except for Darcy, who shoves her head in close to Tony’s. Steve and Clint veer away, and Natasha and Bruce stay where they are.

An onscreen Natasha chews on a pencil, looking at least ten years younger. “Oh, but Mr. Lee- is there anything I can do to make it up to you?”

“Oh, my god,” Steve says, covering his face with his hands.

Tony pauses it, grins, and stands up to slap Clint in the face.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Clint hisses, clutching his cheek. “Fucking  _hell_ , Tony-”

“I win,” Tony says. “Natasha’s in porn, I wi-”

“Porn,” Natasha repeats. “ _Porn_? You think- fuck, I  _wish_  it was porn, it’d be less humiliating, fucking Christ-”

Tony looks unsure now, wavering between Clint and the keyboard. “Um. What?”

Natasha glares at him, and presses play. “Again, I was young and stupid.”

Steve and Bruce look at each other before cautiously moving closer.

“Oh, my god,” Steve says again.

“Fuck,” Darcy says.

“I hate all of you,” Natasha says.

On screen, the younger Natasha starts flinging a hoola-hoop, singing with a glittery microphone. It lasts for about ten seconds before everyone starts staring at the older Natasha.

“I was a teenage popstar,” Natasha says through gritted teeth, “In Russia. I was the Rebecca Black of my generation. And before you ask, it’s in English because it was a fad. Everyone liked Russian stars doing American music. And fuck you.”

“Oh, my god,” Steve says again, caught between laughter and pity as onscreen-Natasha starts jumping on a pojostick with three other girls, bouncing a glittery, purple basketball between them.

Clint, however, kisses her. “I am  _so_  glad you didn’t do Russian porn.”

“Hey,” Darcy says. “That means there was a premature slap.”

Tony tenses as everyone turns to him.

“Uh,” he says.

“ _Two_  premature slaps,” Clint says. “How about that, Tony?”

“I was young and stupid?” Tony tries.

“Steve,” Darcy beams.

Steve looks between Clint and Tony, who looks like he’s seriously considering making a break for it.

Tony looks up at him, trying to smile. “Steeeeve? Stevie, baby, darling?”

Steve shrugs. “I’m slapbet commissioner, Tony. I can’t have favourites.”

“But I’m your favourite, right?”

“Standing right here and has known you since you were nineteen,” Clint says, raising a hand. “Steve, you know how we’re best friends and I love you-”

“I can’t have favourites, Clint, I’m the slapbet  _commissioner_ , it’s a serious responsibility,” Steve sighs. “I’ll give you a choice, Tony. Ten slaps right now in a row, or five slaps to be given to you at any point from here to eternity.”

Natasha and Clint share a look.

“Take the ten,” Bruce says from behind him.

Darcy snorts. “Ten? Why take ten when you can take five?”

“Well, yeah, it’d hurt more,” Bruce says, “But the constant,  _never-ending_  fear of getting slapped? Never knowing when or how it’ll happen? The  _overwhelming_ -”

Tony turns to give him a tight smile. “Really not helping, Bruce.”

“Take the ten,” Bruce says. “Take the ten, it’ll hurt, but it won’t be-”

“I’ll take the five for eternity,” Tony says to Steve, and Darcy’s whoop almost drowns out Bruce’s groan.

“I like your thinking,” Clint says, and reaches over to pause the video.

Tony flinches, and Clint grins. “Breathe, man. Jeez.”

“I’m breathing,” Tony squeaks.

“Uh-huh,” Clint says. “Hey, I heard Pepper found out about the ‘but um’ thing.”

“Oh, yeah. We had to call an ambulance to get their stomachs pumped.”

“Yeah? That sucks.”

“Yeah, it-” Tony is cut off by the slap which sends him sprawling onto the floor, and Darcy outright  _hoots_ , starting to clap.

Clint nods, looking smugly at his hand. “This is going to be fun.”

“You’re a horrible person,” Tony says into the floor.


	4. Pepper Could Take Over The World (or, Tony is a self-destructive asshole who doesn't cope with things)

“My bachelor party isn’t going to have strippers.”

Tony pinches his cheek. “Aw, he thinks he has a say in it. That’s adorable. You’re  _adorable_. So, strippers! You have a preference? Asian, tall, short, fat-”

“My bachelor party isn’t going to have strippers,” Clint repeats through his teeth. “Really, Tony. Promise me there aren’t going to be any strippers.”

“Okay.” Tony makes a finger-gun at him, and winks.

“You winked.”

“No, I didn’t,” Tony says, winking.

“Tony. There aren’t going to be strippers, right?”

“Right.”

Wink.

Clint sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Great. I’m going to pretend you didn’t just wink, d-”

“Because I didn’t.”

“I’m too sober for this,” Clint declares, and gets up to get a drink.

Tony watches him go, grinning. “So, no preferences?”

“Fuck you,” Clint says, not looking back, and then has to apologize to an old lady because he had been looking in her direction as he had said it.

Tony starts in on the breadsticks, stopping briefly to calculate the ratio of how much breadsticks he eats compared to everything else he eats.

It’s probably not healthy, but whatever.

He pops another breadstick into his mouth and starts to chew as Steve sits down opposite him. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Steve says absently, and Tony waves a hand in front of his face.

Steve looks up. “Hmm?”

“Nothing, you just look- nevermind.” Tony shuts himself up via breadsticks- seriously, what  _can’t_  they do- and looks up at the clock. “Shouldn’t you be out with Peggy? It’s still daylight.”

And now Steve’s pissed. Great.

“I’m not going to spend every waking minute with her, Tony.”

“Yep,” Tony says. “Very convincing.”

Steve lets his hand drop to the table a bit too hard, and Tony stops himself from startling. “What’s the deal with you lately? For the past few days, you’ve been-”

“I’m fine,” Tony says. “I’m happy for you.”

Steve watches him with those eyes that could probably make him spill his deepest, darkest secrets, plus all his childhood trauma, and no-one wants to hear that shit.

“Tony,” Steve says, and Tony stuffs a breadstick into Steve’s mouth.

“I’m fine,” Tony says. “I’m fine, you’re fine, we’re all fiiiiine. I’m awesome, in fact. Another breadstick?”

Steve glares at him, chews his breadstick, and swallows. “Please stop shoving things into my mouth.”

Tony, because he’s a gallant and kind individual, doesn’t make a dick joke.

“Scout’s honour,” he says. “But seriously, you’re going to be late if you don’t-”

Steve almost yells, “I’m not going to spend the rest of my life with Peggy, Christ, Tony!”

Tony stares, and Steve suddenly realizes what he’s just said.

He might or might not feel physically sick when Steve starts to backtrack. “I mean, I don’t- I’m not thinking about that at the moment.”

Tony continues to chew slowly. “Here I was, thinking you were the white picket fence guy. I still have that angry Asian guy after me, so you better not screw this up.”

Steve rolls his eyes, and it’s not the usual eyeroll, it has an edge to it that means he’s majorly pissed.

Awesome. Tony hasn’t gotten Steve pissed off in a while. This day just keeps getting better and better.

“Just because you’re an idiot doesn’t mean I have to decide that she’s the one, right here and now.”

Yay. Insults.

“I thought you were all over her. You literally couldn’t string together a sentence when you guys first met.”

“Yeah, well-” Steve fidgets, folding his hands. “She was a pretty dame, and I’m a moron. Look, Tony, I like her, I just- I don’t know, okay? Can you let me not know for a while?”

Tony thinks about saying something, but instead he just shrugs. “Yeah, whatever.”

“Thank you,” Steve says, and looks away, over the other booths.

Tony bites the inside of his cheek and wants to punch him, or kiss him, or slam his fucking face into the table- actually, no he doesn’t. He wants to slam Peggy’s face into the table, which is stupid, because she’s a good person and is  _good for Steve_ , unlike Tony, who would fuck him up, and not in a good way.

So he swallows, and he doesn’t say anything else.

Until he does, because he’s a fucking idiot and never shuts up anyway and shouldn’t expect anything better.

“Seriously, the daylight’s limited, you wouldn’t want her to get the wrong idea if you called her at night-”

Steve half-slams his hand down on the table, and this time, Tony does jump. “Tony, let it  _go_.”

Tony just stares, his jaw stiff, and he would have probably said something stupider if his phone didn’t ring.

Steve looks at it, and Tony looks at it, and Tony’s look turns into a glare before he grabs it off the table.

“Pep, I’m busy-”

“Tony,” Pepper says, and the tone of her voice makes her stop.

“Pep? You okay?”

Steve looks up at Tony, his expression flickering. Mouths,  _what_?

“Tony,” Pepper says again. “Oh, god, I’m- I’m so sorry, it’s-”

“Pep, it’s fine, what happened?”

A pause, and Tony’s brain filters through with everything it could be in that two-second span.

Ironically, it happens to be one of the things he had thought.

“It’s your mother,” Pepper says, quiet and awkward. “She’s- she passed away, Tony, I’m so sorry.”

Tony says, “Oh.”

Steve mouths,  _what happened_?

“Do you need me to-”

“No,” Tony says. “No, I’m good. I’m fine. I’ll be fine. Keep doing what you were doing.”

“Tony, I’m serious-”

“So am I,” Tony says. “I’m fine. Really. Go back to your- thing.”

Another pause, and Pepper says, unsure, “If you say so. I love you.”

“Yeah,” Tony says. “Bye.”

He hangs up, puts the phone back on the table.

When he looks up, Steve looks- concerned. Concerned is a good word. Worried is also a good word.

“What-”

“Nothing,” Tony says. “Nothing happened. She had a thing. I’ll see you guys later, okay?”

“Tony,” Steve says, catching his arm as he gets up, but Tony shakes him off.

“I was serious about the wasting daylight thing,” he says, and hates himself for it. “Only so much daylight to spend with Peggy dearest.”

There’s a part of his mind, the liquid part, that says,  _what the fuck are you doing, you fucking dick_.

Then there’s another part, the one that made him put the phone down, the sensible one, the one that he listens to the most and hates him the most and said  _I’m fine_  and  _go back to your thing_  instead of  _come and get me, please, I need_ -

It’s the part that gets what it wants when Steve’s eyes solidify, when his grip turns into a vice before letting go completely, and that’s what Tony’s wanted all along, right? To shake them off until he dragged them down to drown with him?

“You can be a real jerk sometimes,” Steve says, not looking at him, and Tony watches the hard set of his eyes, the soft wrinkle in his forehead, and wants to kiss it away so badly he feels a tug behind his sternum.

“You still don’t know my last name,” Tony says, on autopilot. “You would’ve guessed if you did.”

“Wh-”

“See you,” Tony says, still not smiling, not able to even make himself, which is surprising, because he’s smiled through worse.

Bruce is in his way when he gets to the door, and he blinks. “Are you-”

“I programmed Peggy’s cell into his phone, he’s a complete technology virgin,” Tony says. “Make sure he knows how to use it.”

Bruce frowns. “I- yeah, sure, but-”

“Gotta go,” Tony says, pushing past him.

Bruce grabs his shoulder on the way out, and  _definitely_  notices the wince, because he lets go like he’s been burned.

“Uh,” he says. “Tony, what-”

“Gotta go,” Tony says again, and it doesn’t come out the same way it does when he’s rolling it around in his mouth.

“Tony,” Bruce says, and why does everyone keep  _saying_  that, really, it’s irritating.

“Going,” Tony says, and closes the door before Bruce can get another word in.

Because bars aren’t a good place to be for him after something like this, but he knows that if he walks out that he’ll just find another bar, and he hasn’t drank for so fucking long it feels like a phantom burn down his fucking throat-

He’s bracing himself against the brick wall before he knows what he’s doing, gulping air and snow and- and  _snow_ , it’s Christmas soon, he’s had some good Christmases here, right?

He’s had that Christmas where the turkey got burned to shit because Clint cooked it, and Tony had to kiss an old guy under the mistletoe, and he had almost dragged Steve under it before deciding he was over his head. The Christmas where Natasha had spent the night for the first time, and Clint had smiled for the whole fucking next day. The first Christmas after meeting Steve, then next year, the first Christmas being in love with Steve.

But even through the hailstorms and the bad trees and breaking his ankle from trying to fly while drunk, they were still better Christmases than he’s had when he was at home, right?

Because anything had to be better than all those presents under that huge fucking tree, everything a boy could ever want except for someone else in the house.

Better than knowing that it was the maid who had hung the stockings, it was Jarvis who had tucked him in that night and told him about Santa, even though he had figured it out before he had turned three.

Anything had to be better than walking through that big, empty house and yelling for someone, and no-one yelling back because the maids were out shopping and Jarvis was visiting his family and who the fuck  _knows_  where his parents are, Jesus-

And then he’s choking on his own breath, he’s digging his fingers into his hair and hating it, hating this, hating the snow and phones and his friends, his unbelievable friends that he still can’t believe he has, and it was a bad idea, wasn’t it, coming here-

He knows the funeral plans already, he knows she’ll be buried next to Howard in the family plot- the lonely graves where he’s going to be one day, with his fucking family no matter how hard he tried to run. No matter how far- New York, California, fucking  _India_ , he’d still be Tony Stark.

And he thinks everyone knows, sometimes. Everyone, even Steve, who doesn’t know how to work Twitter on a good day, much less read the articles about the rich, spoiled kid genius who got his stomach pumped when he was fourteen.

He’s still the Tony Stark who got on the news, who people still stop on the street every month or so, still needing a drink and bullshitting his way through everything.

He’s still the kid who didn’t talk enough, then the teenager who talked too much, and the adult who won’t shut up if you paid him to, still the same kind of desperately, helplessly unhappy that Tony hasn’t been in a while now.

He’s still Tony Stark, he always has been, and at the end of the day, he’s still that fucked up, attention-starved eight year old skinning his fucking knees and bawling his fucking eyes out on Christmas day because there’s not even anyone around to yell at him to stop crying.

-

Pepper calls him when his fingers are too numb to push the button, and instead he stabs at it with his nails until it beeps.

He holds it to his ear, and Pepper’s voice comes in like a light striking through: “Tony, where are you?”

He squints, looks up.

Huh.

“At home.”

“No, you’re not, I already called there and Clint says you’re not. Where are you?”

“Went for a walk.”

“Tony, we’re worried about you.”

“I went for a walk, I’ll be back soon. I’m fine.”

“Stop  _saying_  that, Christ, Tony- look, just go back to Clint’s and warm up, okay?”

Tony thinks about getting up, but when he moves his feet, they erupt in pins and needles. “Yeah, I will.”

“If you’re not there in ten minutes, I’m tracking the GPS on this phone.”

Tony smirks. “You seriously think I haven’t overridden that yet? Pep, I’m offended.”

A pause.

“Are you drinking?”

He stays silent, and Pepper says it louder, sharper: “Tony, are you dri-”

“Probably should be.”

On the other end of the phone, there’s a sound that’s probably a sigh, but it could just be static, at this point.

“I’m not drinking,” Tony says. “I’m fine, Pep.”

“Tony,” Pepper says, “Go  _home_.”

-

Steve only tunes in when Clint starts mentioning strippers again, because apparently conversations about strippers turn into in-depth conversations about strippers.

“It’s not a date,” Bruce says. “It’s you going to a strip club and paying for lap dances.”

Thor sips at his appletini, pushing the olive out of the way with his tongue. “I disagree, friend Clint. If it was not a date, then why did say every fifth dance was free?”

“Because that’s the Lusty Leopard’s policy on Friday ni-” Bruce suddenly stops, his lips thinning. “I am  _so_  mad at you that I know that.”

Steve tries for a laugh, but it falls flat, and Bruce looks over at him.

“You okay, Steve?”

“Hmm?” Steve looks down and realizes he’s been absently picking pieces off of a breadstick. He snaps it in half, and starts chewing on one end. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Bruce’s look turns knowing. “ _Oh_. Uh, okay? Hey, did you talk to Tony before I got here?”

Clint snorts into his drink. “How do you think we got into the stripper conversation?”

Bruce says, “And, uh. He’s okay, right?”

“Seemed okay when I talked to him,” Clint says. “Why?”

“He was-” Steve frowns. “Being an ass, I guess, and I thought something was wrong when he got off the phone with Pepper, but he- distracted me.”

“By… being an ass?”

Steve shifts awkwardly. “He’s good at it?”

“He is,” Bruce agrees. “Better than anyone I’ve ever met. Has a weird talent for it. But- he seemed-  _off_ , when I-”

“Yeah, he did,” Steve says.

Clint and Thor look at each other, and Thor takes another mouthful of the appletini. “I know not what you are talking about. Friend Tony was gleeful and at peace in our last conversation. We spoke of our past experiences with strippers. Did you not ask how he fared?”

Steve takes a second to translate Thor-speak into normal-speak. “I- well, yes, but he was-”

“Dude,” Clint says. “You can’t let him be all self-destructive and Tony-ish at  _Christmas_. I mean, you of all people-”

“I’m not his  _keeper_ ,” Steve protests, too loud. “Bruce has known him the longest-”

“Oh, come  _on_ ,” Clint laughs. “You guys are freakishly close. You can, like,  _sense_  each other. You have a spidey-sense, except it’s a Tony-sense.”

“I don’t-”

“ _Freakishly_  close,” Clint repeats. “Hell, I’ve known you since college, and I don’t think I know you as well as he does, even if he denies it. And fuck knows he denies it.”

“We’re not-”

“Both of you deny it, then.”

Steve bites down on the back of his tongue. “I guess we’re close, but we’re all close! We’re friends.”

“ _Cloooose_  friends,” Clint says, raising an eyebrow.

Steve gapes slightly, but snaps his mouth shut when Clint’s smirk is blown into epic proportions. “I- Tony’s- we’re not- what?”

“Do you remember last Christmas, when he was upset, you didn’t even know why, and you spent  _eight hours_  setting up Christmas lights in the apartment just to cheer him up?”

“That was- a platonic friend thing.”

Clint starts to fold his arms for emphasis, but hits his elbow on the desk. His smirk never lessens, though, as he fumbles to get his arms into a comfortable position on the table. “A platonic friend thing? Really? Steve, let me ask you a question, would you have done that for me?”

Steve just stares, and Clint folds. “Fuck. You probably would’ve, you’re such a good friend, Steve.”

“Thanks,” Steve says. “Uh, you, too.”

“So,” Clint says, swishing his drink around in the glass. “You guys are just  _cloooose_  friends.”

“Yes,” Steve says. “ _Friends_. And that’s it.”

Bruce mumbles something into his glass, and Steve catches the name ‘Peggy.’

“What was that,” Steve asks flatly, and Bruce has the decency to look embarrassed before saying, “Well, hasn’t he seemed kind of… jealous?”

“Because he thinks I’ll be spending all my time with her. Which I won’t.”

“And that’s the  _only_  reason,” Bruce says, sounding almost disappointed.

Steve says, “Yes,” and he believes it.

Mostly.

Like, 98%.

Bruce drops his gaze. “Yeah. Well, okay, then. I guess if you have chemistry, all you need is-” he laughs in the back of his throat. “Uh, timing. And timing’s a bitch.”

Steve has no idea what the hell to say to that, honestly, so he just looks down at the ever-present bowl of breadsticks.

“Um,” Bruce says. “But seriously, Steve. Is your- ‘Tony-sense’- tingling?”

Steve glares. “He was being an ass, I might have yelled at him, and he walked out. He looked- okay. I guess.”

“You guess,” Bruce repeats. “He didn’t look okay to me.”

Steve shrugs, twisting a breadstick around his finger, trying to remember how Tony’s smile had sagged at the edges.

Then someone yells his name, and Steve looks up-

“Pepper,” Steve says dumbly, feeling the dread set in, because Pepper has such a busy schedule she barely has time for Natasha, much less Steve, and the only time she even  _calls_  him is when-

She cuts him off from saying something else, marching up with her loud heels and coming to a stop in front of the booth. “Where’s Tony?”

“I don’t know, I thought-”

“You- wait, you  _left_  him when he was like that?”

“I- what? No, he walked out after he hung up. What-”

“He didn’t say anything,” Pepper says, her hands coming up to the strap of her bag; a nervous tick that sets Steve’s teeth on edge.

“Nothing out of the ordinary, why?”

Pepper’s face sort of- crumples, before rearranging it into what Steve has come to recognize as her poker-face that she puts on when she’s on air. “He’s-”

She lowers her voice. “Steve, I called him to tell him his mother had died.”

Steve hears Clint mutter,  _fuck_ , behind him, but it barely registers. “You- you  _what_? But he- he didn’t- Christ, Tony-”

“You know how he can be.” She laughs wetly. “Do you know where he would go? I already checked the lazertag place.”

“Have you tracked his pho-”

“He disabled it, Steve, it was probably the first thing he did. If Tony S-” She catches herself, and Steve almost wants to shake her, because why the hell does his last name matter in this? “If Tony doesn’t want to be found, then he won’t be found.”

Steve brings a hand to rub at his forehead. “Yeah, with his billions of mysterious dollars that I’m still not sure he didn’t get from a bank robbery- I don’t know where he’d go, except for here, the lazertag place, and one of our apartments.”

“He might, uh.” Pepper wets her lips. “He has this other bar he used to-”

“He wouldn’t drink,” Steve says. “Not after- he hasn’t for almost six years, he wouldn’t fall off the wagon because-”

“Because his mother  _died_?”

Steve winces. “I- he wouldn’t, okay? It means too much to him.”

“Look, no offence, Steve, because god knows how good you and the others have been for him, but I’ve known him longer.”

“He knows him better,” Clint pipes up. “Seriously. Tony-sense. We could get him to play hot and cold. Point him at random places and see if he beeps.”

Pepper purses her lips. “I can see why you and Tony get along. And Natasha, actually.”

Clint salutes her. “It’s an honour, ma’am. Can we go find our incredibly destructive friend before he does something stupid like start a riot? Or drive into a wall at breakneck speeds?”

“Don’t even,” Steve warns. “Come on, lets go. You guys check your apartments, I’ll-”

“I still vote we point you at things.”

“ _Not_  the time, Clint.”


	5. Last Cigarette Ever (or, Tony may or may not talk about things occasionally)

“Tasha, Tony’s probably gone on a murder spree, have you seen him?”

Natasha doesn’t even look away from her laptop from where she’s playing solitaire. “Nope. Why the homicide?”

“His mom died and he decided it’d be better to go and get frostbite instead of talking to someone.”

 _That_  makes her look up. “Have you checked-”

“Duh.”

“What about-”

“We’ve checked everywhere, he’s not answering his cell, and we can’t track his phone. And we can’t report him to missing persons, ‘cause-”

“It hasn’t been 24 hours,” Natasha says, pushing her laptop off of her lap and standing up.

“Plus Steve and Thor still don’t know he’s Tony Stark, mostly due to the fact they can barely work a toaster, let alone the internet. Pepper says Tony would like to keep it that way. Also, he thinks we don’t know, either. Which I think is fucking adorable, because you’re you and I’m awesome-”

“Clint,” Natasha stops him, sliding a hand over his mouth. “You’re doing it again.”

Clint smiles weakly. “It’s how I deal with things?”

“I know.” She smiles, and Clint thinks,  _god, I love you_. “Where else is there to look?”

“Uh,” Clint says. “I don’t know. Do you think he’s, y’know-”

“Drinking?”

Clint squirms; shrugs his shoulders.

Natasha’s lips thin. “I don’t think he would.”

“His mom died, Tasha.”

“Yeah.” She taps her fingers against her hip, tucking her bottom lip between her teeth. “Well, if Tony were to ever fall off of the wagon, this would be a pretty good reason for it.”

“That’s comforting.”

Natasha slings her bag onto her shoulder, pushing her hair back and flashing him a grin. “You know it. Let’s go Stark-searching.”

-

Steve pays Coulson an extra fifty bucks to speed to his apartment, and he and Pepper tear through the rooms, meeting back in the lounge and both reporting that he’s not here.

“Shit,” Steve says.

“Seconded,” Pepper says. “I called  _everyone_ , where the hell is he?”

“I don’t know.” Steve rubs his hands over his face; through his hair. “Try calling his phone again.”

“I just tried a minute ago, he didn’t pick up. Well, he clicked ‘ignore,’ so that means he’s alive, at least.”

“Good. Alive is good. Or someone took his phone.”

“That’s less good.”

“Yep,” Steve says, having an insane urge to jump from foot to foot. “Definitely less good.”

A pause, and Pepper is gripping the strap of her bag so tightly her knuckles are going white. “I need a smoke.”

“I- you what?”

“A smoke,” Pepper repeats. “I smoke when I’m stressed. Habit I picked up from Tony, damn him. Which I’m going to do, I’m going to  _damn him to hell_  when we fucking find him, but we have almost nowhere else to look, and I need a goddamn smoke.”

Steve swallows. “I. Uh. I have a pack at my place.”

“You smoke?”

Steve looks determinedly at the floor. “Occasionally? It’s not a full-time thing, I’m not-”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. But we don’t have the time, so I’ll just pick up a pack and a lighter downstairs before we start looking through bars.”

They share a reluctant look, and Steve rolls his shoulders. “Bars. Right. Coulson’s still downstairs, so-”

“Your cab driver is scarily dedicated.”

Steve shrugs as he opens Tony’s door for her. “We’re faithful customers.”

“He’s a  _cab driver_. You’re New Yorkers.”

“He likes us?”

“I wonder why,” Pepper sighs.

-

Bruce tries very hard not to shriek when he sees someone’s jeans draped over the toilet, because they’re followed by a threatening, serial-killer looking shadow in the bathtub.

“Uh,” Bruce says. “Since when do you smoke?”

Tony looks up and grins, eyes rimmed with red, nails bitten, smoke rising and probably setting off the smoke alarm soon. “I only smoke on certain occasions: post-coital, when I'm with Germans - sometimes the two overlap - coital, that time of year the Mets are mathematically eliminated, pre-coital, and - wait for it, 'cause I sure have - pregnancy scares.”

Bruce approaches cautiously, and sits down on the tiles next to the bath. “And why are you smoking now?”

Tony gives him a look. “I’m always pre-coital, Bruce. Always.”

“Right.” Bruce looks down at the tub, which is half-filled with hot water. And Tony’s lack of jeans. “You sure it’s not because Pepper called?”

Tony makes a face. “Ugh. She told you, didn’t she?”

“Ratted you out without a moment’s thought.”

Tony sucks on his cigarette, letting it sit in his mouth for a few seconds before pursing his lips and blowing it out in a thick plume. “That horrid bitch.”

“She was worried. We all were.”

“Thought I had gone from a bar, to a bar where I can actually drink?”

“It crossed our minds, yeah.” Bruce folds his arms on the lip of the tub, watching the tired set of Tony’s eyes. “Look, I know I’ve only been here for a month and a bit, but these people are really good for you, Tony. And you’re good for them.”

“Mm.”

“I’m serious! You- you get them out of their comfort zones. You get  _me_  out of my comfort zone, just like back in college.”

Tony rolls his head towards Bruce. “I was the only one who treated you like a person, you liked me by default.”

Bruce laughs at that. “Maybe. But these guys are- they’re good, Tony. They care about you. They see past that armour bullshit that you’re so used to pulling.”

Tony wants to get drunk so badly it hurts, and this really isn’t helping. “Must be losing my touch.”

“It’s a good thing, moron,” Bruce sighs, holding his hand out.

Tony watches it for a few seconds before raising his eyebrows. “I thought you quit.”

“I did,” Bruce says. “Last cigarette ever, I promise.”

Tony snorts, but he fishes a packet out of his pocket, shells one out.

Bruce takes out his own lighter, and Tony’s eyebrows get even higher.

Bruce’s smile falls flat. “I possibly haven’t quit as thoroughly as I originally thought.”

“Suuuure.” Tony grins around his cigarette, and Bruce slips the cigarette between his lips, flicks his lighter, and holds it to the tip.

Tony watches as Bruce inhales deeply, holds it, and lets it out in a huge rush. “Oh, my  _god_.”

“I know, right?” Tony sucks in another mouthful. “That’s the stuff.”

They sit there, breathing in smoke and revelling in the beautiful, beautiful lung cancer they’re probably accumulating.

“So,” Bruce says after a few seconds. “I should probably call the others and tell them they can cancel the helicopters.”

Tony jerks, and Bruce backtracks- “No, no, I was joking- they’re all looking, though, so I should-”

“Yeah,” Tony says. “Yeah, go do that. Hey, uh, they don’t know who I am, right?”

“Some of them might. That Thor guy  _definitely_  doesn’t. He asked me to ‘Bing’ something. Who uses Bing? No-one uses Bing. The guys who made Bing probably don’t- aaaand you’re asking if  _Steve_  knows, right?”

“What?” Tony laughs, but it’s shrill and slightly hysterical and terrifying as fuck. “No. No, I meant them as in everyone. The group. In general.”

“Absolutely. Steve doesn’t know, either. Just in case you were wondering.”

“I wasn’t,” Tony says, but he visibly relaxes. He pauses, his cigarette halfway to his mouth. “Thanks, Bruce.”

Bruce knocks his shoulder. “No problem. Gotta say, though, I’m impressed. Not just any guy can make Tony Stark want to commit.”

“ _Commit_ ,” Tony repeats, and starts choking on the smoke, until Bruce has to hit him on the back.

“I’m not,” Tony half-chokes, and Bruce hits him on the back again. “committing. We’re friends.”

“You look at him like-”

“I know, shut up.”

“I’m just saying, it’s kind of obvious-”

“Well, it’s a good thing Steve’s one of the most oblivious guys I’ve ever met,” Tony says, letting his hands smack down onto his knees, which are soaked. “I’m still surprised he’s bi, fucking Christ. He was going on about settling down with a girl, and I- fuck, I don’t even remember, and he looked up and said something like, ‘I don’t really care if it’s a girl, actually,’ and I just about died from getting a breadstick lodged in my throat.”

Bruce nods slowly, hand still on Tony’s back. “You do eat a lot of those.”

Tony brings a hand up and rubs his eyes. “Yeah, whatever. He sees me as a friend, and even if he didn’t, we- we wouldn’t be a good idea.”

“Tony-”

“Don’t try to convince me otherwise, Bruce. Come on, Pepper and me-”

“Are closer than you ever were,” Bruce says. “Yes, you were a horrible couple, but that doesn’t mean you’ll always be a horrible boyfriend to everyone.”

Tony laughs, running a hand through his hair. “Boyfriend? I don’t want to be Steve’s boyfriend. I just- want to be with him, all the time. I want to hear about his day, tell him about mine. I want to hold his hand, smell his hair.”

He trails off, and it takes a few seconds before he realizes that Bruce is staring at him with a half-amused, half-pitying expression.

He clears his throat. “But I don’t want to be his stupid  _boyfriend_ , fucking hell.”

Bruce sucks on his cigarette, letting the silence stretch. They both breathe in smoke for a while, blowing smoke rings, or at least attempting to, until Bruce finally says, “Tony, you-”

“I don’t do commitment,” Tony cuts him off. “I don’t, okay? It’s better for everyone if I’m just-”

“What, alone?”

Tony shrugs, and it’s then when he notices that Bruce’s hand is still on his back. He may or may not lean into it.

Bruce’s throat clicks, and his cigarette dangles in his hand. “It’s okay to need someone. Especially after something like this.”

Tony stares at the mould in the ceiling. Which there happens to be a lot of. “Honestly? The longest conversation we ever had was about what style tie I should have. I didn’t-” he blinks, hard. “We aren’t, y’know. Close.”

“She’s still your mom.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t- fuck, Bruce, you knew my parents, we weren’t exactly warm and cuddly! They were- distant, they were cold, my therapist used to throw the phrase ‘emotional abuse’ around about dad a lot, but mom was just- in the background. Neither of them were around anyway, so whatever. I mean, I guess she loved me? We never really- yeah. We just- didn’t.”

He takes a long suck on the cigarette, letting the smoke seep between his lips. “And you were around for the bender I pulled when dad died.”

“The Stark search of ’02,” Bruce nods. “Found you in a tree. Still don’t know how you got up there.”

“Mm,” Tony says. “So I’m- I’m fine. I just need a while to get over it.”

Bruce laughs, sort of barks it, and Tony looks over at him.

“You need a while,” Bruce repeats, and laughs again. “Fuck, Tony, your last remaining parent just died.  _Yes_ , you need a while. God.”

Tony blinks. “Wow. Tell us how you really feel, Bruce.”

Bruce opens his mouth to tell him to go insert his cigarettes into an especially unsanitary area where the sun may or may not shine, when Thor suddenly appears in the doorway.

He starts grinning when his eyes land on Tony. “Friend Tony! It gladdens me to see you alive and well. Why are you half naked?”

Tony shrugs. “Seemed like a good idea at the time. My legs were cold. You guys have the best bath. Could you ring everyone and tell them I haven’t thrown myself off the Brooklyn bridge, or something?”

“I shall,” Thor says, nodding. “Friend Bruce, why are the two of you smoking?”

“I only smoke when I’m post-coital, when I'm with Germans, or-”

“It’s stress-smoking,” Bruce cuts Tony off. “You want one?”

Thor shifts uncomfortably. “Aye, but I have quit.”

Tony waves the pack at him. “Come on. Say you were comforting a grieving friend. Which you totally were. I’ll burst into tears if you don’t take one. Take it. Take it, take it, it, take-”

“I suppose one would not be of any harm,” Thor says, unsure, and takes one from the pack, along with Bruce’s lighter.

-

Steve lunges for the phone when it rings. “Hello?”

“He’s here.”

He feels the relief bleed through him, relaxing his shoulders. “Oh, thank god.”

“Yeah,” Bruce says. “He’s fine, Thor and I have been sitting with him in the bathroom for the past half hour.”

“Why the ba-”

“Don’t ask. Oh, and can you pick up a pack of cigarettes on your way over?”

Steve stops, staring at the lit cigarette in his free hand. “Uh. I could. Why?”

“Apparently we’re all having our last smoke ever. Well, second. Our second last smoke ever.”

“You don’t say,” Steve says, still staring at the cigarette. “Yeah, uh- Pepper and I had the same idea.”

Bruce barks out a laugh. “No shit. Tony mentioned something about passing it on to her. Well, join the club. Do you want me to call Clint and Tasha, or-”

“No, I’ll do it. You call Darcy, tell her she can stop. Thanks, Bruce.”

“No problem.”

Steve hangs up just as Pepper comes out of the store with another pack of cigarettes.

“He’s at Bruce and Thor’s,” Steve says, and watches the same relief wash over her.

“Thank god,” She says, smiling and then dropping it and then smiling again. “Oh, thank god, I thought- thank god. How fast can Coulson get us over there?”

“Depends how much you’re paying,” Coulson says from out the window of the cab.

Steve grabs for his wallet.

-

When Steve and Pepper get to the apartment, Tony is in the kitchen, in his boxers, dripping over the floor.

They both stare, and Tony raises his cigarette. “Hey. Not dead.”

“You,” Pepper says, marching up and flinging her arms around him, avoiding the wet half of his body, “are a moron, and I hate you. I’ll see you next tomorrow, okay? I have a meeting now. Well, half an hour ago, but I’m too terrifying for them not to forgive me.”

“Pep, I’m-”

“No, you’re not. I’ll see you tomorrow. Wear pants.”

Tony rolls his eyes, but it’s fond. “Fine. But because I want to, not because you told me to.”

She smiles, and kisses him on the cheek. “Great. Steve, make sure he doesn’t drown in the bath.”

“I’ll do my best, ma’am.”

She pats Steve’s arm on her way out, and then the door is closing and they’re in the kitchen, and Steve raises his eyebrows at Tony’s lack of pants.

Tony shrugs, opening the cupboard. “I was cold. Bruce has a great bath. Clint and Tasha just got here, they’re in the bathroom with the others. I’m here for cereal. Captain Crunch, or Cocoa Puffs?”

He shakes the two boxes at Steve.

Steve looks at him- his smudged eyes, his AC/DC shirt, his boxers that are clinging to him and are dripping all over the linoleum, and never wants to stop looking. “I’m really sorry I didn’t realize what had happened.”

Tony twitches- it’s small, but it’s there. “What? How the hell could you have known? It’s fine, I was being a dick.”

“You were, but I should’ve seen that something was wrong.”

“Steve,” Tony says, shoving the Cocoa Puffs back in the shelf. “I needed to be left alone for a while, and you wouldn’t have let me do that if I told you. Let it go.”

“You shouldn’t have been alone after learning something like that.”

“Steve, for fuck’s sake-”

“You don’t need to be alone for this,” Steve says, stepping closer, and sees the flinch early enough to stop moving forwards.

Tony just smiles. It’s unconvincing, but there’s a grain of honesty in there. “I’m not. Whole tribe of people in the bathroom, waiting for me to bring the cereal. Which we’re cruelly holding up, by the way.”

Steve can’t help the smile, because Tony is tired and smoking and he looks like an  _idiot_ , standing half-soaked in the kitchen, holding a box of Cocoa Puffs in one hand and a cigarette in the other.

“Okay,” he says. “Point taken. You’re not alone.”

“Damn straight,” Tony says, and this time, the smile is more convincing. Only slightly, but it’s an improvement. “And I’m not going to talk about things, just in case you thought I would.”

Steve rolls his eyes, takes the cereal from him. “Why on earth would I think that?”

Tony laughs quietly. “True. Just- yeah. I need some time. Until then, we’re going to sit in the bathroom and smoke cheap cigarettes, okay?”

“Okay,” Steve says, soft and knowing and brimming with it, with that stupid, ever-present looseness in his chest that happens whenever Tony is around.

“Also, hey, uh.” Tony grabs his shirt to stop him from continuing down the hall. “Not being a dick, but didn’t you actually have a thing? With Peggy?”

“We did,” Steve says. “I called it off. I was more worried you were in a ditch somewhere.”

“ _Steve_ -”

“I don’t regret it,” Steve says. “I’d do it again, and she understood. I’m not going to stop being friends with you just because I apparently have a girlfriend now, okay? So stop worrying.”

Tony deflates slightly, and in the back of his mind, Steve lets himself wonder for a split second if what the other had said was true, if Tony wasn’t jealous just because he hasn’t been hanging out with him as much.

But he shakes it off, because he’s been shaking off Tony-related-feelings for a few years now, and it’d be stupid to get his hopes up. And anyway, he’s dating Peggy, and she’s pretty much the personification of what Steve’s been hoping for since he was four, right?

Then he looks up at Tony, with his pink mouth and brown eyes and slim, beautiful hands, and the breath is punched out of him.

“Um,” Steve manages, trying to get himself together. “And besides, you stole a blue French horn for me.”

“I saw the angry Asian guy,” Tony says. “He chased me. Again. Had to jump under a hotdog cart to lose him.”

Steve laughs, large and loud and shaking. “See? I don’t know anyone else who would do that for me, Christ, Tony. You’re the only person who would run into a shop and steal a blue French horn from the window for a friend’s date.”

“I’d steal you a whole orchestra.”

Steve stares, and Tony stares back, something like fear in his eyes.

Tony says, “Uh, I mean-”

They both jump when the fire alarm goes off, screams coming immediately from the bathroom, accompanied by Natasha’s Russian swearing, and Tony holds the cereal box over his head, grabbing Count Chocula for Steve and thrusting it at him before heading for the door with the others.

-

“Last cigarette ever,” Clint says, glaring at the cigarette like it’s personally wronged him.

“Ever,” Bruce agrees, looking at his with a more loving expression.

They sit on the roof, drenched and freezing and probably getting hypothermia, holding cigarettes with trembling fingers and trying not to light the blankets on fire.

“Last cigarette ever,” Darcy adds shakily, holding it up to the sunrise before bringing it to her lips and taking a long drag.

It’s quiet, and the apartment is probably flooded, but Steve is still coming down from the rush of  _Tony’s okay, he’s okay, oh, god_.

He looks over, just to check, and there he is: wet and cold and still trying to light a soggy cigarette.

Steve smiles, leaning back against the pipes, and breathes in.

It’s not his last cigarette by a long shot, but whatever.


	6. Prom, Take Two (or, everyone thinks everyone is gay)

“TashaVanSmooteisopenweneedtogetdownthererightnow.”

Natasha almost breaks the pencil she’s holding, and jerks out of her seat. “On my way. Details?”

“There was a cancellation,” Clint pants, and Natasha hears someone on his side of the phone yell at him to get out of the road. “Someone died, or something. If we don’t get there in the next ten fucking minutes, Sif and Loki are going to get it.”

Natasha slams the door with unnecessary force, trying not to break the handle. “Fuckers. Keep running, I’ll meet you there.”

“Oka- wait, don’t you have work?”

“Just left it,” Natasha says, grabbing her bag on the way out of the building. “Darcy’ll take care of the kids.”

A confused six-year-old is in her way at the gate, and she skids to a stop.

“Hey, kid, can you-”

“Miss Tasha? Why-”

“Running is good for you,” Natasha says, and vault over the fence, hitting the ground and starting to flat-out sprint, hoping to high hell that Darcy’s coffee break ends before one of the kids finds the paste in the cupboard again.

She and Clint stay on the phone the entire way, occasionally interrupted by someone screaming obscenities at them or Clint almost getting hit by a taxi and only avoiding it by jumping over the hood.

When she finally sees him, he’s neck-in-neck with Sif and Loki, who look like they’re fully prepared to shove Clint in front of another taxi.

“Hey,” Natasha pants, closing her phone, and Clint looks at her, his eyes almost bugging out of his head from exertion.

He makes a strangled wheezing sound, and Natasha shoots a glare over at Sif and Loki before grabbing Clint and forcing him onto her back, hooking his legs around her waist.

She piggybacks him to the door, where they manage to shove in front of Sif and Loki, getting in the elevator before them but not in time to make the doors close before the others get in.

“Sif,” Clint chokes, leaning on Natasha for support. “Loki.”

“Clint,” Loki replies, barely out of breath. “Natasha.”

There’s a silence where they all glare at each other and Clint tries not to pass out.

Natasha snaps, “Stairs,” and grabs Clint’s hand, dragging him out the elevator, but not before smashing her hands down all the elevator floor buttons, making it light up like an evil, backstabbing Christmas tree.

She manages to get Clint out just before it closes, and turns around to hear Loki’s pained howl.

“I kneed him in the nads,” Clint says, grinning through his sweat.

Natasha feels a flood of love for her fiancé, and kisses him before forcing him up seven flights of stairs until finally he tells her to go on without him, and she makes her way up the other three alone.

-

“There’s no more milk.”

Steve hooks his thumb towards the fridge. “I just saw it in the fridge.”

“Empty,” Tony says through a mouthful of cereal.

Steve looks back at the fridge, then to Tony, who props his legs up on the coffee table. “So throw it out.”

“Trashcan’s full.”

“So take the trash out.”

“I’m eating  _cereal_ ,” Tony says, spoon halfway to his mouth.

Steve puts his hands on his hips, and then at Tony’s raised eyebrow, folds them. “Well, why didn’t you put it in the trash when it got empty in the first place?”

“It’s there to remind us to buy more milk.”

“You know what would be better? Actually having a new carton in the fridge.”

Tony snorts. “Whatever, honeybun. Go buy some milk, if it bothers you that much.”

“It’s not-” Steve’s lips thin. “At least put it on the list!”

“We have a list?”

Steve makes his way to the cupboard and swings the door open, revealing a whiteboard with the word ‘LIST’ scrawled at the top.

Tony frowns, craning his neck so he can see it. “When did we get that?”

“Yesterday, when I went shopping.”

“Why didn’t you get milk?”

“Because it  _wasn’t on the list_ ,” Steve hisses, his hands itching to throttle someone. Preferably Tony, whose neck looks very throttle-able at the moment.

It’s the end of his first week living in Tony’s apartment, ever since he’s gotten fed up with Clint and Natasha’s constant sex life.

He had sat down at the booth in SHIELD, dropped his head onto the table and had said, “This is worse than college.”

Bruce had been picking olive out of his teeth. “What happened in-”

“They had sex for the first time on the bottom bunk,” Tony had interrupted. “Steve was on the top bunk. He’s still traumatized.”

“I’m not traumatized,” Steve had protested, and Tony had grinned.

“Whatever you say, Cap. You could always just bunk with me, if you wanted a break from those crazy kids.”

It shouldn’t have been that simple, but here they are, a week later, arguing over empty milk cartons.

Tony opens his mouth to say something that probably wouldn’t make Steve’s urge to strangle him lessen, when the phone starts to ring.

“Answer it,” Steve says, turning to continue doing the dishes.

The phone rings, twice, and Steve turns around with soapy hands. “Tony! Answer the phone!”

“I’m eating cereal!”

Steve pauses to give him a glare that could fell tall trees and kill tiny, helpless children; wipes his hands on a tea-towel and grabs for the phone.

“We got the Van Smoote house,” Natasha says before Steve can even say ‘hello.’

Steve blinks, and breaks out into a grin. “Really? That’s great?”

Tony looks up. “Oooh, what happened?”

“Go back to your cereal,” Steve tells him. “How’d you get it? I thought you had to have reservations for at least three years.”

“Four,” Natasha corrects him. “And someone cancelled. Or died. I don’t know. They have an empty spot two months from now.”

“Two months? How are you go-”

“I’ll make it happen,” Natasha says, and Steve fucking believes it.

“Right. Where’s Clint?”

A pause. “Still on the stairs. I think he’s getting the feeling back in his legs again.”

“Should I ask?”

“Definitely not. Also, if Thor calls you and asks about Loki, you know nothing.”

“…I don’t know anything about Lo-”

“That makes it easier. Meet us in SHIELD in an hour.”

-

Bruce and Darcy are there when they make it to the booth, and they both nod at Steve, Clint, Tony and Natasha as they approach.

“He-”

“You’re supposed to be at work,” Natasha cuts her off. “That means I have an entire class of kids left unattended.”

Darcy shrugs and shells another peanut. “They’re a bunch of six year olds with safety scissors and craft paper, what harm could they do?”

“The fact that you think that is the biggest giveaway that you haven’t been doing this for a while,” Natasha deadpans, sliding in next to Clint. “The last time this happened, the lunchladies all quit. One of them went into the hospital. They all refuse to tell us what happened, and whenever we ask the kids, they say something about nail polish remover.”

Everyone stares.

Clint kisses her forehead. “You are, without a doubt, the most badass first-grade teacher I’ve ever met, and I love you.”

Natasha smiles. “Likewise. Now, down to business. I have everything planned but the band, and that’s-”

Bruce raises his hand. “Hi. What’s going on?”

“We got the Van Smoote house,” Clint says, slinging an arm around Natasha’s shoulder. “Might have made Loki infertile in the process, but it was worth it.”

Bruce blinks slowly. “I don’t have anything to say to that.”

“Wise choice. So, band?”

Tony shrugs, chewing on a breadstick. “We could always get Natasha Sparkles to-”

“Finish that sentence, and I’ll mark another slap off the slap bet,” Clint warns, and Tony snaps his mouth shut.

“Thank you, fiancé.”

“You’re welcome, fiancé. Someone suggest a band.”

“Um,” Darcy says. “I heard the X-Men were available?”

Clint scrunches his nose. “That is the worst name for a band I’ve ever heard, and that includes Natasha Sparkles.”

“Thank you, fiancé,” Natasha repeats, her nails digging into his wrist. “Who are the X-men?”

“The awesomest band to ever… band.”

“I’m going to ignore your grammar in that sentence. Are they good?”

“They’re the awesomest band to ever band.”

Steve says, “Thank you, Darcy. You’re very helpful.”

“I’ve heard of them,” Tony says, popping a peanut into his mouth along with the breadstick. “They’re pretty good. Really good, actually. I mean, I was drunk enough to think that one of them was clone-me, but-”

“Aaaaand ignoring that. So, they’re good?”

“Yep.”

“Great.” Clint cracks his knuckles and ignores the glare that Natasha gives him for it. “So, do we call them to audition, or?”

“They don’t  _audition_ ,” Darcy says. “They’re, like, the Moses of wedding bands. They’re the fucking Jesus of wedding bands. They’re the  _God_  of wedding bands. I’d keep going, but we’re kind of at the top of the chain here.”

“They’re the Natasha of wedding bands,” Tony grins, and Natasha’s mouth twitches.

-

Steve sets the phone down on its cradle and turns to Tony. “We’re not-”

“Come ooooon! Where’s your sense of adventure? I bet it’s not even illegal, we-”

“We’re not in high school,” Steve says. “We’re not _sneaking into a high school prom_ , Tony, Jesus.”

A pause, and Steve says quickly, “That wasn’t a ch-”

“I  _accept_  that challenge,” Tony declares, standing up, and Steve drops his head into his hands.

“You guys are still weird,” Bruce says from off to the side. “But I agree with Tony. If Natasha wants to see them audition, then we have to go.”

Natasha looks at Clint, who looks back, trying to keep his face from twitching.

“I’d go,” Darcy says. “I totally look young enough to crash a prom. I still have my old dress.”

Tony flops down on the couch next to her. “I’ll go. You all know I’m ageless. I even get hotter as I age. I’m like a fine wine. I’m a gorgeous wine. I’m such a smoking hot wine that everyone wants to drink me until-”

“I really, really don’t want to know where you were going with that,” Steve says. “But I’d… go if it’d help Tasha.”

Natasha hasn’t blinked this entire time, and Clint’s eyes are starting to water from staring back for so long.

-

“You’re horrible people,” Steve says as they inch their way further up the line.

Tony elbows him in the ribs. “You should be used to it by now. Darcy, you still don’t look slutty enough.”

She raises her eyebrows. “I’m not sure if I was supposed to take that as an insult or a compliment, but fuck you, I look slutty enough.”

“Nope,” Tony says. “Not enough cleavage. Gimmie, I’ll pull your dress down a little.”

“ _Tony_ ,” Steve hisses, red-faced and staring determinedly up at the roof.

Tony just grins. “Fine. Tasha, pull down her dress a little so Steve can’t accuse me of groping.”

Steve just blushes redder and looks up even further. “We’re not going to be able to pull this off.”

“Spoilsport,” Tony says, watching intently as Natasha adjusts Darcy’s dress. “We can tota-  _wow_ , Darcy, there we go. Slut central. He- _llo_.”

“Tony,” Steve says again, firmer, and Tony shrugs, leaning over to nudge Darcy’s shoulder.

“What? We’re sneaking into a prom, it’s part of the disgu- huh. They have a lot more security than when I had my prom.”

Natasha pats at her lipstick. “I’ve got this one.”

The line thins, and her lips part in a (terrifying if you know her well enough) smile as she comes up to the security guards. “Thanks, guys-”

“You’re adults,” The one in front of her says flatly, crossing his arms.

Natasha, bless her, doesn’t even bat an eyelash. “Oh, come  _on_. You think a body like this-”

“And  _this_ ,” Darcy says, strutting up and striking a pose beside her.

Steve stands in the back and groans inwardly.

“You’re adults,” the guy repeats. “You’re not students, therefore you can’t get in.”

Natasha’s smile drops. “Okay, look. I need to get in there to see a band, and if you try to stop me, you will wake up three hours later in the ER with marks from my garters imprinted in your neck.”

The guy falters slightly, but he stands his ground. “Not allowed in unless you’re a student, or a student’s date.”

“Bingo,” Tony says, turning around, and Natasha strides past him, towards two guys who are leaning on the wall.

“Hey, boys. Wanna-”

Steve grabs Tony just before he taps a girl on her shoulder. “Tony, what are you doing.”

“Getting us in.”

Steve’s grip tightens. “Tony, if girls ask guys, it’s fine. If two older guys ask two high school girls, it’s warrant for arrest.”

Tony snorts, shaking his arm off. “Ladies! How would you like to go to prom with two of the hottest guys here?”

The girls turn around, cigarettes dangling, jeggings pressing, cell-phones out, and Steve suppresses an honest-to-god yelp.

One of them cocks an eyebrow. “You don’t go here.”

Tony shrugs. “Got kicked out of my old school, and thought I’d crash this one. Help a guy out?”

The girl looks at Steve, and Tony leans sideways, towards him. “Also got kicked out. We’re a pair of rebels without causes. Or whatever. Pretty please?”

The girls continue to stare, unimpressed, and Steve takes Tony’s arm to say _, let’s just wait outside_.

“I’ll pay you 500 bucks each.”

The girls both look at Tony, surprise colouring their otherwise emotionless expressions, and  _why the hell do teenagers get Botox, why_ -

“Okay,” one of them says uncertainly. “Can we get paid up front?”

Tony flashes his best grin. “Of course.”

He digs into his pocket, comes out with his wallet and shells out a few notes to each of them. “250 now, 250 later. Let’s get promming.”

“That’s not a word,” Steve says, as he watches Natasha and Darcy get escorted inside by their ‘dates,’ who are now giggling hysterically at each other.

-

Steve is 80% sure he’s going to get permanent damage to his corneas from these strobe lights, which are flashing in beat to whatever the hell ‘dubstep’ is.

“So,” the girl yells over the music. Or, what some people might call music if they’re deaf in one ear and have lived in a cave with gorillas for the last five years. “You want a drink?”

“No, thanks,” Steve yells back. “Are you sure you should be drinking?”

“…Of course I should be drinking, it’s  _prom_.”

“No, but-” Steve clears his throat, trying to be heard over the pounding of his own head. “Are you even old enough to drink? Have you been drunk in a social situation before? Because it’s really not safe with all this-”

“Bye,” the girl says, and disappears onto the dancefloor.

Steve blinks hard, getting rid of the dark spots swirling in his eyes. He sees the guitarist leaning over to talk to Natasha, who is leaning against the stage on her tiptoes.

Tony smirks. “Smooth, Cap.”

“She shouldn’t be drinking,” Steve says, watching a girl wobble up to the stage and drape herself over one of the drums.

Tony shrugs. “I started at twelve. These guys are lagging.”

Steve opens his mouth to say,  _you started at_ twelve, when he feels a tug on his arm, and Darcy suddenly appears at his side, drink in hand. “So, this is way worse than my prom. Mine had stripper poles.”

Everyone seems to be going out of their way to make Steve’s face burn today. “Okay. I bet that was. Um. Nice?”

“It  _was_ ,” Darcy nods. “Learned some really important life lessons in there. You never know what’s going to happen on the pole.”

Steve nods along with her, suddenly aware of how easily she fit in here, unlike him, who has already gotten suspicious looks from almost everyone who he’s passed.

Tony is staring at her, eyebrows raised. “I’m starting to see you in a new light.”

She re-adjusts her corsage. “Hell to the yes. You haven’t seen anything until you’ve seen me pole-dancing. People have said it’s life changing.”

“I don’t doubt that. You should show us sometime.”

Steve glares at him, and Tony nudges his shoulder, grinning. “What?”

Darcy sips at her drink, looking around the hall. “Hey, on the creepy scale, how bad would it be if I slept with someone here?”

“Um,” Steve says. “Darcy, I’d have to say you sleeping with a high school guy would be very, very creepy. Also illegal.”

She sighs, and takes another mouthful of her drink. “Sigh. Whatever. I’m getting back out there. See you!”

She waves, and he raises his hand as she dissolves into the throng of bodies.

Steve presses himself further into the wall, feeling the cold wood behind his back and wishing he could melt into it.

Tony nudges him. “Hey, you okay?”

“Hmm?” Steve looks at him. “Oh, yeah. I just- I’d rather be home reading a book, you know?”

Tony continues to stare at him, and Steve smiles. “Okay, maybe  _you_  don’t know.”

“Partyin’, partyin’, eve’y day,” Tony says, in that voice that makes Steve think it’s a song that he hasn’t heard of. “But it’s boring without being perpetually drunk for most of it, so.”

Steve nods without thinking, and remembers: “You were twelve?”

Tony flinches, his jaw stiffening slightly, but he says it loosely: “There was nothing on TV, and I was bored.”

Steve watches him, how he’s looking out over the crowd like he’s grown up in it, like he’s in his element- he probably  _is_ ; Steve still doesn’t know what his childhood was like, or even his last name. He used to care, and he still does, sometimes, but Tony doesn’t want them to know, so he doesn’t pry.

He doesn’t know what could be that bad, so bad that Tony doesn’t want them to know, that his name is so recognizable- a drug lord? A  _mobster_ , for god’s sake?

Hell, the only thing Steve knows about him, pre-New York, is that his dad was an ass.

And Pepper, of course- Pepper, the bridge between the world Tony’s in now and the world he left, quick, competent Pepper who calls Steve when Tony starts blaring warning signs. Pepper, Tony’s assistant-slash-friend-slash-something, and Steve still doesn’t really know what they are, after five years of knowing Tony.

Then there’s Bruce, who knew Tony through college, who doesn’t tell anyone his last name, either. Who knows him but doesn’t, but he’s there for him, anyway.

Because Tony keeps people at arm’s length at the best of times, and if there’s anything Steve has learned about Tony, it’s that he’s more than he seems.

And he’s almost as bad at wording things as Tony is, so instead, he takes Tony’s wrist and squeezes it quickly before dropping it.

Tony’s mouth quirks up. “You’re horrible at this.”

“You’re worse,” Steve says, and they grin at each other, until-

He jolts forwards, and whirls to the guy who had knocked into him as he passed.

The guy is frowning at him, dusting his sleeve.

“Hey,” the guy says, irritated. “Watch where you’re going.”

Steve means to say,  _okay_ , but what comes out is, “You shoved into me, not the other way around, buddy.”

Old habits, he supposes- being half as tall and a third as skinny as everyone else while growing up sort of did that to him. Have a smart mouth, and learn how to duck punches.

Of course, now he’s taller than most people and can throw punches better than any kid in his neighbourhood ever could, so there’s that.

And then there’s the fact that he’s about six years older than him, and he’s probably been in a hell of a lot more barfights.

“Fuck off,” the guy says. “Don’t cheek me.  _You_  shoved into  _me_ , asshole. What’s your problem?”

 _Nothing. I’ll leave now_. “My problem is that you pushed me, and then told me to watch where I was going.”

The guy starts forwards, stabbing his finger in Steve’s face, saying, “Look, man, I’m not afraid to-”

“A- _hem_ ,” Tony says, coming to stand in between them. “Seriously? You shoved into him, man. Let it go.”

The guy’s face is purpling, his hands are coming into fists. “You fucking  _fag_ , what the hell are you trying to-”

“Fag?” Tony makes a face. “And what if I am, tough guy?”

The guy hesitates, looking between him and Steve. “I. Uh.”

“You’re going to punch us for being  _gay_?” Tony makes his voice raise in the gap between songs, and a few heads turn towards them.

Tony steamrollers on, acting oblivious to the fact that almost half the hall has gone silent since the music has paused. “Are you a  _homophobe_? Are you  _seriously_  going to try to kick our asses because we happen to like something shoved up them? Our love,” he says, sliding his arm around Steve, “Is everlasting, and we don’t care who knows.”

“I didn’t-” the guy is shrinking away, now, his mouth open wide. “Oh, my god, I didn’t mean it like, uh-”

“How  _dare_  you,” Tony continues, and Steve is stuck with a bizarre urge to burst out laughing, because it’s obvious how much he’s enjoying this. “That is  _offensive_. I’m  _offended_.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” the guy blurts, looking around to where the entire hall is staring at them, and murmurs start to break out. “I didn’t! I’m fine with queers, some of my best friends-”

“ _Queers_?”

“Gays- gay people?”

Tony turns to Steve. “Honey, do you want to leave?”

Steve bites down hard on the edge of his tongue to stop himself from grinning. “Sure.  _Darling_. Where are the others?”

“Here,” Darcy calls, and Steve can only see her arm flailing madly from a few dozen feet away.

A few seconds pass, full of the guy continuing to splutter and the music  _still_  not being put on again, and Darcy emerges, being pulled by Natasha.

Natasha nods at them. “We can go. I got the band for the wedding.”

“Oh,” the guy says, his face still purple, looking at where Natasha is holding Darcy by her elbow. “You guys, too? Not that I- I mean, I don’t- I said-”

“Let’s go,” Natasha cuts him off, looking at Steve and Tony dryly.

Darcy, however, grabs her hand. “I second that, sweetie.”

Natasha glares.

“Honey bear?” Darcy tries. “Lemon pop? Babydoll?”

“Leaving,” Tony says, and pulls Steve along by his hand.

Darcy nudges him on the way out, trying not to grin. “Dude, you totally watched Teen Wolf.”

“I may have got some pointers,” Tony says, not looking at her, and Steve’s laughing the second the door closes behind them, giggling until his stomach hurts, leaning against the rubbish bin.

“You’re  _horrible_ ,” Steve chokes, and Natasha hits him with her purse.

Tony just keeps grinning, pulling Steve along by his hand, and Steve catches himself thinking that he could do this forever.


	7. Best Shwarma In New York (or, everyone loves superheroes)

“Thanks to my fucking cleanse, I haven’t eaten in  _two days_ ,” Darcy says, leaning over the table to get into Tony’s  face. “Can we just- for the love of all that is good and holy and- and  _American_ , can we just order something to eat?”

Maria looks expectantly towards Tony, pen in hand.

“…Italian?”

“Ew,” Tony says, scrunching his nose.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Darcy groans, letting her head bang down onto the table. “No, just  _pick_  something, fucking Christ! For  _America_!”

“Shwarma,” Steve says, giving Tony a look. “We’ll have shwarma, please.”

Darcy grabs at him. “Steve. Steve, I love you. You are a godsend in this pack of crazy bitches, and I love you.”

Thor frowns. “If I am correct, friend Darcy, you have said on several occasions that you are head of the crazy bitches.”

“Lies,” Darcy says. “Lies and slander. Get me food. Maria, food.”

-

When the plate is set down in front of Bruce, he looks up at Darcy. “Uh. You can have mine, if you wa-”

“No,” Darcy says, smiling tightly. “I’ll be cool. They said mine would be five  minutes, so I’ll wait five minutes. I’m cool. It’s cool.”

There’s a silence, and Darcy drops her smile. “Fuck. Fine, you guys can eat.”

“ _Thank_  you,” Clint sighs, and takes one of the biggest bites that she’s seen anyone ever take out of any shwarma, ever.

Almost immediately, they all moan in unison.

“Oh,  _god_ ,” Tony says through his mouthful. “I love this shwarma. I am in love with this shwarma. I want to marry this shwarma, and have teeny, tiny, delicious babies with it.”

Thor wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “This is by far the greatest shwarma that has ever graced my tongue.”

“Holy  _shit_ ,” Bruce says.

Clint nods in agreement through his bulge of food.

“I fucking hate all of you,” Darcy all but spits, folding her arms.

There’s another pause, and Steve shrugs. “It’s okay.”

Tony, Clint, Bruce and Thor all sit up, outraged, and Steve raises his hands. “I’m sorry, it’s just- once you’ve had the best shwarma in New York, every other shwarma pales in comparison. That long-lost shwarma is the only one for me.”

“Stop speaking about it like it’s sentient,” Tony says. “It’s creepy.”

Darcy tries to concentrate on anything that isn’t the roll of her fucking stomach. “What, you’ve had the best shwarma in New York?”

Tony and Clint both swat at her, and she leans back. “What? What’d I-”

“It was five years ago,” Steve says, and Darcy lets out a frustrated yell into the table.

He gives her a look, and she grudgingly mumbles an apology, pulling the finger as she does.

“It was five years ago,” he repeats, “and I was back in New York for the first time since college. I was walking around, seeing the new shops that have opened up, and just when I was getting used to the new homeless people-”

“You’re fucking weird,” Tony says, still chewing.

Steve glares. “Homeless people are people too, Tony.”

Tony shrugs. “I know. Just dirty, crazy people. Continue your epic love saga about the shwarma.”

Steve’s lips thin, but he continues. “Anyway, I got hungry, and when I turned a corner-”

“Fireworks started going off, the homeless people broke out into dance, and Celene Dion started playing in the background-”

“Shut up, Tony. I turned the corner, and there was a shwarma joint that I hadn’t seen before. Which I thought was strange, because I knew all the burger joints around there, and it looked old. So I went in, and I ordered a shwamra.”

Tony starts in on his side of chips. “This is where it gets graphic, kids. Turn away if you don’t want to hear about foodgasms.”

He yelps as Steve kicks him under the table, and reaches down to rub at his shin. “Worth it.”

“You’re a philistine,” Steve says. “The shwarma was amazing, the end.”

Bruce puts down his shwarma. “Why didn’t we go there?”

“I couldn’t find it afterwards,” Steve says, picking at his shwarma. “It’s been five years, and I looked  _everywhere_. It’s like it just- disappeared.”

Clint starts humming  _Twilight Zone_  around his shwarma, and when he swallows, he says, “We should go look for it. See if it’ll make you shut up about it after five years.”

Darcy looks over her shoulder for Maria, drumming her fingers against her glass.

“I agree,” Thor says. “We sh-”

“We’ve already looked everywhere,” Tony says, trying to balance his spoon on his nose and failing. “Tried every ‘best shwarma joint’ in New York, literally. Either Steve’s tastebuds are lying whores, or we haven’t found it.”

Steve almost tells Tony not to call his tastebuds lying whores, but then realizes that it’d probably be one of those things he’d regret saying later, while looking over his life choices. “I don’t know, I think it’d just be a waste of time going searching again.”

Bruce shrugs. “I think it’d be fun.”

“You think it’d be  _fun_ ,” Tony repeats. “You think it’d be  _fun_  walking the streets of New York for a phantom shwarma joint that 99 times out of a hundred, we don’t find? You think it’d be  _fun_  to go on a pointless, childish mission that will bring us no reward whatsoever except for the thrill of the chase, an awesome story and the best fucking shwarma you’ve ever eaten?”

“…Yes?”

“Oh, god,” Tony says, grabbing Bruce and flinging his arms around him. “It’s started. You’ve accepted it. You’re becoming one of us.”

Bruce looks mildly terrified at the concept.

Steve sighs. “We could try, I guess. It’s either that or walking around aimlessly, seeing if I turn and see that blessed green door. That beautiful, majestic red neon sign.”

“West 12th, right off of seventh,” Darcy says, still craning her neck to see Maria.

There’s a silence, where Darcy looks back to see why the hell everyone’s stopped talking.

“What,” Steve says.

Darcy blinks. “Uh. The green door, the neon sign. I know that place, I passed by it all the time on my way to wor- oh, thanks, Maria, you’re a fucking goddess, I love you,” she says, as Maria puts her plate down in front of her.

“ _What_ ,” Steve repeats, and stills Darcy’s hands, which are folding around the shwarma. “Darcy. Do you know where that shwarma place is?”

“Well, yeah-”

“It’s a quest,” Tony says, his eyes wide. “I declare a quest. A quest for the long-lost shwarma. Darcy, put down that piece of shit shwarma, we’re going to get ourselves the real deal.”

Darcy looks mournfully at her shwarma. “But I-”

“A  _quest_ ,” Tony repeats, grabbing her shwarma and throwing it at the ground, despite Darcy’s enraged squawk.

Steve looks at him, and Tony falters. “Uh. Sorry, Darcy.”

Darcy just stares at her shwarma and squeaks again, leaning down.

Clint grabs her around the waist and starts for the door, followed by Thor. “Darcy, you’re not going to eat that off the floor. We’re going questing.”

-

“Can’t I just eat that guy’s hat,” Darcy asks desperately, grabbing at a hot dog seller’s hat as they pass.

Clint steers her away. “Nope. Is this the pla-”

“This is it,” Steve says. Then: “Oh, my god, we found it. We found it, I- I don’t know what to say.”

Tony claps him on the shoulder. “’Thanks’ would be nice.”

“Right. Thank you, Darcy, this is really-”

“I meant thanks to me, you moron.” Tony adjusts his cufflinks. “I’m the one who said we should go questing.”

“I will eat your fucking tie,” Darcy says shakily, and they both get out of the way.

They order one shwarma each, Tony pays, and Darcy almost trips over herself getting to hers. She has it halfway to her mouth before Steve catches her wrist and says quietly, “This isn’t it.”

“ _Fuck_  you,” Darcy spits. “I wasn’t kidding about eating your tie, seriously, let my hand go-” she starts jabbing her head towards the shwarma.

Clint lets his shwarma drop to his plate. “Okay, man, are you sure this isn’t the same place you ate at, and this is the same food?”

Bruce nods. “Yeah, maybe you just blew it out of proportion over the years?”

Darcy slams her hands down onto the table. “I don’t give a shit, it’s just shwarma, now let me  _eat_.”

Steve doesn’t let her go. “Darcy, it was more than  _just_  shwarma. It was- it was- it was hope. It was hope, and love, all ground up and put inside pita bread. It was- it’s the kind of shwarma poets would write sonnets about. It’s the kind of shwarma that- that there would be a montage for. A huge montage of everyone eating it, and experiencing the pure  _rapture_  of that shwama.”

He laughs softly to himself, like he’s remembering. “This isn’t  _just shwarma_ , Darcy, this is- this is  _God_ , speaking to us through food.”

Darcy stares at him, then at his hand around her wrist, then at Tony. “I will eat. Your. Fucking.  _Tie_.”

“Oookay,” Tony says. “Hey, waitress?”

The girl turns, pushing her hair back. “Yeah?”

“Did you guys change cooks, or something? ‘Cause my loveable, batshit crazy friend here thinks he ate here a few years ago, but apparently the shwarma tastes different than it did back then.”

“ _Oh_ ,” The waitress says. “Oh, yeah, no. No, we get that a lot- this place was remodelled to look like this other place, uptown?”

Steve gets up. “Uptown?”

“Uh, yeah,” the girl says. “I can give you guys directi-”

“ _Yes_ ,” Steve says. “Yes, oh, my god,  _thank_  you.”

He hugs her, and she looks practically dwarfed by him.

-

They seem to be paying Coulson to speed places a lot more often now, and the tires screech when he pulls up to the curb.

“Thanks, Phil,” Steve says distractedly, and Tony frowns.

“ _Phil_? Who the hell is-”

“Coulson,” Clint says, getting out after Steve.

Tony turns, and Coulson raises his eyebrow at him.

“Huh,” Tony says. “Hey, Phil.”

“Stark,” Coulson replies, and Tony goes rigid, looking over his shoulder to check that the others are out of the car already.

Coulson laughs. “It’s okay, Pepper called me. I’ll keep your secret.”

“Thanks.”

“For 50 bucks.”

Tony grumbles, but he takes out his wallet. “Wait, how the fuck do you know Pepper?”

Coulson shrugs. “She calls all the important people in your life. And threatens them, mostly.”

Tony looks at him, bills in hand. “You drive us places. It’s your  _job_.”

“We see each other at least once a day, and we always seem to be getting stuck together. At least four of you have my cell number.”

Tony smiles slightly. “That’s actually kind of terrifying.”

Coulson shoves the money in his pocket. “You’re telling me.”

Tony nods, and gets out of the car. “You’ll wait?”

“If you’re lucky.”

“Wouldn’t expect anything different,” Tony says, and slips past the green door.

-

Later, after Steve whispering, “this is it,” and Darcy finally getting to eat something- she cried at some point, Tony’s pretty sure- and after Coulson has driven them home (he waited, of course), Tony, Steve, Bruce and Natasha sit on the roof.

It’s a comfortable silence, which is only broken by Tony saying, “We go to each other’s apartments too much.”

The others all hum in agreement, and Tony nudges Natasha. “Hey, Tasha. Guess what?”

“If you make a dick joke, I swear to god-”

“Nope. Bruce is accepting his fate.”

Natasha looks over at Bruce, who shrugs.

“Apparently I am,” he says, looking out over the city, at the morning lights.

Natasha smiles. “Nice to have you in the group, Banner.”

“Nice to be in the group, Romanoff.”

Steve exhales loudly, leaning back against the pipes. “You know what? I like the group. Even if half of them aren’t here.”

“Including Coulson,” Tony says, making a face. “Apparently he’s an honorary Avenger.”

“Honorary what?”

Tony folds his hands under his head, knocking his elbow with Steve’s. “Avenger. Earth’s mightiest heroes. He’s Captain America. He used to be skinny, but then he got injected with super soldier serum and got hot. And tall.”

“That’s a horrible way to describe puberty,” Steve says.

Tony bats him on the head before continuing. “And he wears the flag as a suit.”

Steve looks up at him through his eyelashes. “No-one would wear the American flag as a suit, Tony.”

“You’d pull it off.”

Bruce pushes closer to the pipes. “Would he get a weapon? All the best superheroes have a trademark weapon.”

“What?” Tony frowns. “Fuck no. He’d have- he’d have a shield, because he’s lame.”

“Thanks,” Steve says.

“And it’d also have the American flag on it.”

“I’m not that patriotic, Tony, Christ-”

Tony nudges him, and keeps going. “And Coulson would be some agent guy in a suit. He’d be badass. Darcy- fuck, I don’t know, she’d be-”

Natasha tilts her head. “Inappropriately-short-arms-girl?”

“No.”

“Never-has-an-umbrella-girl?”

“No.”

“Then what-”

“I don’t know, we’d find something!” Tony sighs, letting his head drop back to his arms. “Peggy would be, like, an awesome version of Mary Jane. Y’know, Spiderman’s girlfriend.”

Natasha nods thoughtfully. “I’d strangle men with my thighs.”

“You would,” Tony says.

Steve says, “Thor?”

Tony snorts. “Thor would just be Thor. He’d- oh, my god, he’d totally be an alien. He’d be an alien with a huge hammer-thing, like the Thor in the books. And Clint would beeee…”

“Archer,” Natasha says. “He’s into archery. He never misses.”

“Archer,” Tony repeats. “Okay, cool.”

Bruce leans up, propping his arm up. “What would I be?”

Tony grins. “The Hulk.”

“Do I even want to kn-”

“You quadruple in size and turn into a big, raging, green guy. We have to buy new pants every time you Hulk out.”

“Ha, ha,” Bruce says, poking him in the side. “What would you be?”

“Me?” Tony hums to himself. “I don’t know. Superman.”

Steve tilts his head so it’s resting on Tony’s ribcage, looking up at his face. “I don’t think so.”

“Thanks, Steve.”

“No, I mean-” Steve rearranges his hands so they lie flat on his stomach.

He looks up at Tony, and how the light falls, and imagines another world, one where Tony would kiss back if Steve ever got up the nerve. And then he shoves it away, because he has Peggy, and when he’s with her, he thinks he could live like that. She’s what he’s been waiting for, and she’s brilliant, and- and then there’s Tony, who pisses him off and drinks too much coffee and is thinking up a world where they’re superheroes, where everyone’s together, and Steve can’t think of anything else he’d rather have.

He inhales, and lets it go. “I think you wouldn’t have any powers, like Tasha and Clint. I think you’d build something yourself, from the ground up, to protect yourself. Armour.”

There’s a silence, and Tony tries to break it again, because what the  _fuck_.

“And you’d, um.” Steve looks up again. “You’d make it be able to fly, of course.”

Tony barks out a laugh. “Well,  _duh_. I wouldn’t be much use if I just stood there on the ground and shot at things. So, I don’t have any powers? I’m that lame?”

“Not lame,” Steve says. “You’d have… you’d have something else you made.”

“Why do I have to make all this shit by myself?”

“Because you’re an idiot who doesn’t know how to ask for help.”

Tony nods. “Granted. Continue.”

Steve listens to Tony breathe, feels the soft lift and fall of his ribs. “You’d have a machine in your chest to keep yourself alive. And it’d be your weak spot, but- you’d turn it into an advantage, a different kind of armour, because that’s what you do. It’d be your weakness, but also your strength, because it’d power the suit.”

“The flying suit?”

“The flying suit.”

“Cool. Can it do anything? Shoot lazers, or-”

“Yes, it can, but that’s not what it’s focusing on. And it’s- it’s bright,” he says, looking up at the sun that’s coming up, how it’s framing Tony’s hair, his eyelashes, the spaces between his fingers. “It’s bright blue, and it shines through your shirts.”

Bruce wrinkles his nose. “That sounds inconvenient. How can he sleep?”

Tony shrugs. “Putting a cushion over it? I don’t know. Steve’s the guy who’s making this stuff up.”

“Mmm,” Steve says. “It’d be amazing. And we’d all live in a tower, one that Tony buys, because he’s rich.”

“Fuck yes.”

“Language. And we’d fight evil, and we’d always save the day, and nothing bad would ever happen, because we’re superheroes, and we have each other’s backs.”

Another silence, and the sun filters through, setting everything alight, and Steve closes his eyes and thinks about the borrowed light through Tony’s shirt, over his chest.

“That sounds nice,” Natasha says quietly.

Steve swallows, but then he’s grinning, wide and loose and easy. He thinks of saving the world, and ducking under his shield, and watching Tony cut through the sky above him, gold and red and bold and brave and lighting everything up the entire way.

He thinks of saving someone, just in the nick of time, and getting saved in the same way. Of a city like this one, worlds away, who have superheroes.

He thinks of him sitting on the tower, just like this one, drawing the skyline, and having the Avengers Tower jutting up in the middle.

He clears his throat softly, and thinks of the blue light cutting through the room at night. “It does, doesn’t it.”


	8. Peggy Is British and Badass (or, boys are emotionally constipated)

“Steve.”

“Mm?”

“Steve,” Peggy says again, and Steve blinks.

She looks at him expectantly, and he looks down at the menu that he’s apparently been holding for the past 30 seconds while both Peggy and the waiter had stared at him.

“Oh! Sorry, I’ll have, uh-”

He looks down at the menu and says the first thing he sees, which happens to be ‘roast duck with orange stuffing.’ Which sounds disgusting when he says it out loud, actually.

The waiter gives him a judging look, like,  _why the hell did you pick that, you fucking moron_ , but thanks him and leaves.

Steve tries for a smile. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Peggy says, but her face says otherwise.

“No, really, I’m-”

“It’s  _fine_ , Steve,” Peggy says, and this time, her smile is a bit more genuine. “I just- I’ve been thinking about… things.”

“Things,” Steve repeats.

Peggy starts to fiddle with her earring. “Yes. Things. One of the things being, uh. Steve, you have accepted that you’re attracted to men, right?”

Steve can’t help it- he starts laughing, and loud. Four other tables look over at him in the time it takes him to stop, and at that point, he’s choking himself silent. “I’m sorry,” he manages. “Sorry, it’s just- yes, I came to terms with it when I was twelve, why?”

She reaches to fiddle with her fork.

Steve realizes it like a kick to the head: “I also accepted that I was attracted to women at the same time, because I am. Attracted to women, that is. I’m attracted to both. Um. Genders.”

“Oh! Oh, I know,” Peggy says, rushed. “I know, it’s just- you and your friend Tony spend a lot of time together, correct?”

Steve opens his mouth. He closes it. He opens it again. “Yes? So do all of us, we’re kind of tight-knit.”

“I know, I  _have_  met them,” Peggy says, raising an eyebrow. “You’re all very close. It’s quite nice, actually- anyway, that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about. What I wanted to talk to you about is, um. Tony.”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” Peggy says, fiddling with her earring again. “Okay. Um. This is going to be incredibly awkward, but, um. You do realize how you look at him, don’t you?”

Steve’s blush is more of a tip-off than anything, and he blurts, “Sort of?”

“And how you talk about him.”

“…Maybe?”

“And how you basically do anything in relation to him with a dazed, slightly maniac look on your face.”

“That one I haven’t noticed, no.”

Peggy’s smile is sadder than her first two. “I wouldn’t be surprised; you’re completely out of it when you are. You’re trying to stop, I noticed.”

Steve thinks he should probably look her in the eye for this conversation, but suddenly the tablecloth is one of the most fascinating things he’s ever seen, including Picasso. “I. Yes. I don’t mean to, it just-”

“Happens,” Peggy nods. “I know. I don’t think you even realized what you were feeling until recently.”

“I didn’t,” Steve mumbles, and looks up when he feels Peggy’s hand over his. “I like you,” he tries. “And I honestly did mean what I said on our first date. You know, when you basically ran out of the coffee shop?”

“I remember,” she says, laughing. “Oh, god, my face must have been priceless. But you know what I have a lot of experience with, Steve?”

“Guns,” Steve says, trying to draw this out as long as possible.

“Them, too. But I also have a lot of experience with boys being absolute and utter idiots about their emotions.”

Steve squirms, resisting the urge to look away.

“Steve,” Peggy says, and there’s her other hand, covering both of his. “I’m not breaking up with you. Well, I’m thinking about it. Considering it, actually.”

“This is making me feel so much better.”

She smiles again. “I like you, Steve. And the past three months have been really, really fantastic, it’s just- whenever you start talking about him, or answer a text from him, or, god forbid,  _see_  him-”

She stops, drawing a breath. “You know the drill. I’m not going to be the one to keep you two apart.”

“But I’m not-”

“What if,” she says, “we broke up? What if there was nothing standing in the way between the two of you, and you were actually aware of your feelings this time?”

Steve swallows, looking down. “I don’t- I don’t know. We’re not- it’s-”

“Boys being complete and utter idiots about their emotions,” Peggy says softly. “The textbook example. The only way standing in the way of each other is each other. You do realize that Tony looks at you the same way you look at him, yes?”

Steve wants to say that he hasn’t. That, over the years, he hasn’t sometimes caught the heated glances, the soft laugh, the wanting to look away but not being able to.

Peggy laughs quietly, almost to herself. “He’s a commitment phobe, you have arguments on your best of days, you think you’d be horrible in a relationship, and neither of you know how to handle what you feel for each other. You’re both drowning in it, I know.”

“I like you,” Steve says, finally looking back up at her. “Peggs, I love you.”

And she smiles, because she’s beautiful and brilliant and he meant it when he said he loved her the first day he met, he  _did_ , because how could he  _not_?

“People don’t fall in love at first sight,” she says softly. “You fell in love with the idea of me, and I certainly understand how that can happen. You thought you found the one, and then you finally realized- at the  _worst_  possible timing, I might add- that you’ve been in love with your best friend for years now. So you tried to convince yourself to settle for me, and, god, Steve-”

Her throat clicks. “I’m not- breaking up with you, Steve. Not yet, at least. Hell, maybe you can get over him, and he can get over you. But if you don’t, then… well, we’ll see how things go. But honestly, I don’t- oh, Christ,” she says, and laughs, putting a hand over her face. “I don’t see how I could ever compare, because he set us up, and he was practically dying the entire way through it, because he wants you to be  _happy_. I mean, who  _does_  that?  _I_  wouldn’t do that, I’d- god, I’d probably sabotage us, if I was in his place.”

She laughs again, like she can’t stop. “And then he follows us on our date, steals a blue French horn so you can  _impress_  me- and god, I am so sorry I ever mentioned that bloody thing in the first place- and proceeded to get chased down the street by a rabid old man, who tried to have a go at him a month after the original incident after finding him in the street. And he’d do it again in a  _heartbeat_ , Steve, that’s how far gone he is over you.”

Steve sits there, not able to bring himself to say anything. He blinks, once, twice, three times.

“Actually,” Peggy says, “I take it back. I’m breaking up with you, and you can’t stop me, because I’m a fucking blockhead and just talked myself into it with that little speech which I’m really regretting at the moment.”

Steve starts toying with the tablecloth that drapes to the floor, worrying it with his ankle.

There’s a long silence, where Steve’s hands sit awkwardly under hers and neither of them move them.

“I really wish I hadn’t ordered the stuffed duck,” Steve says finally.

Again, she laughs. “With orange stuffing? Yes, that sounded bloody terrible, and I think you’re an idiot for saying it.”

They smile at each other, sort of sadly, and Steve eases his hands out from under hers. “So, I guess this means you won’t be my plus-one for Clint and Tasha’s wedding.”

“Sorry,” she says. “I guess I’m just not up for being your plus one when Tony’s been in line for it all this time.”

She pauses. “He bloody better have realized he’s in love with you, because I just broke up with  my incredible American boyfriend and I’m not having this talk twice.”

This time, it’s Steve’s turn to laugh. “Yeah, I don’t know about that. I don’t even know if I’m going to say anything, I- heck, I’ve almost said something so many times, but I chicken out at the last second because it’s a great day and I don’t want to ruin it, or Clint is there, or something.”

She shrugs. “In my expert opinion, I think he figured it out a few years before you did.”

Steve blanches. “A few  _years_ -”

“Boys being complete and utter idiots about their emotions,” Peggy repeats. “I should write a book.”

“It’d make it easier for us emotionally constipated boys, yeah.”

They grin at each other, and Steve looks down. “I don’t think we’re doing this right. After all of my other breakups, I immediately crawled onto the couch and watched reruns of  _Firefly_ , not joked around with my ex.”

Peggy reaches forwards and pats his hand again. “If it makes you feel better,” she says, “Officially, I’m dumping you.”

He groans and rests his head against the table, but then they’re both laughing again, and Steve thinks that this is the weirdest breakup he’s ever had.

-

When he walks into SHIELD, the first thing Steve hears is Bruce saying, “Just- I know you have a lot of things planned for Clint’s bachelor party, but he really, honestly,  _truly_  doesn’t want strippers.”

Steve stops, leaning against the side of the booth where Clint sometimes (and by sometimes, he means every day) hides to scare Tony.

He sees Tony shrug. “That’s just what he told you.”

“And what did he tell you?”

“That he wants strippers.”

“When did he tell you that?”

“Every minute of every day, as his inner animal thrashes against the cage of his own puritanical upbringing.”

“…Tony, the last stripper you brought me had me sign a release form.”

“It was part of her charm!”

Steve’s mouth quirks upwards, and he walks out, nodding at Tony and sliding in next to Bruce. “Hey, guys. Planning Clint’s bachelor party?”

“Right you are, Cap,” Tony says, shelling a peanut and popping it into his mouth. “And you guys know my strippers. They demean the groom, herself, and really, the entire human race.”

Steve sighs. “We’re not having strippers at his bachelor party, Tony.”

“That’s what the government  _wants_  you to think.”

“That didn’t even make sense.”

“That’s what the government  _wants_  you to-”

Clint slams into the side of the booth before Tony can finish. “Darcy brought Tasha a vibrator for her bachelorette party, and gave it to her in front of her old, Russian aunt that we’re pretty sure is still a virgin.”

Bruce, despite being here for three months, takes a second to absorb that.

Steve, on the other hand, has been here for five years, and is way too used to this. “How’d she handle it?”

Clint pauses. “Uh, pretty well, actually. Darcy hung up after saying something about stripper poles, so.”

Steve huffs a laugh, and Tony kicks his foot under the table. “You okay, Cap? You look like someone kicked your puppy.”

“I-” Steve clears his throat, not sure where to look. “I, uh. Peggy and I broke up. She dumped me, actually.”

“That bitch,” Clint says immediately, and Bruce elbows him.

Steve risks looking up, and Tony is staring at him with a hastily-covered expression.

“Shit, Steve. What happened?”

“I don’t know,” Steve lies. He doesn’t think saying  _you_  would be the best way to casually slide in the fact that he’s in love with Tony into the conversation. Plus, he wants to get him alone for it to happen.

Or, y’know. He could just keep being friends with Tony to avoid awkwardness, and because things seem to be going well at the moment, and oh, god, he’s never going to say it, is he?

He hesitates, frowning. “Are you- are you patting my foot with your foot?”

“I can’t reach you from all the way across the table, and our feet are easily accessible,” Tony says flatly, and Steve feels it crush into him again, swallowing him up and leaving him gasping.

He’s loved Tony for years, he’s been  _in_  love with Tony for years, and he can’t see how he didn’t notice it before.

“This is going to go really, really badly,” Steve says, and it takes a few seconds and Bruce’s confused look for him to realize he’s said it out loud.

“I have no idea what that was about,” Tony says into the bowl of peanuts, “But yeah, probably.”

Steve can’t stop the laugh if he tried.


	9. The Avengers Suck At Weddings (or, grass-stains don't come out of suits like that)

“If you don’t stop jiggling your leg, I swear to god I’ll chop it off.”

Darcy stops jiggling her leg. And reaches up to bite her nails, which is… better? “Sorry. Just- nervous.”

Natasha raises an eyebrow. “It’s  _my_  wedding.”

“I’m the maid of honour!”

“Pepper’s the maid of honour.”

“I’m the co-maid of honour,” Darcy says through a mouthful of her fingers. “You just chose Pepper ‘cause she’s good at this kind of shit. And because you guys bonded over being the most terrifying women in New York. Which is saying something.”

She falls silent, still chewing at her nails, and Natasha rolls her eyes. “Breathe, Darcy. Which is really what you should be saying to me, since there’s 40 minutes to the wedding, my veil is fucked to hell, there aren’t any flowers, and Bucky’s here.”

“James,” Darcy corrects her. And when she gets glared at, she raises her hands. “What? He wanted to be called James, not Bucky, and it’s sure as fuck not my fault your estranged boyfriend from high school is still madly in love with you.”

“He could’ve told me sometime before my fucking  _wedding_.”

“He  _tried_! You sent him to the ER!”

“Which is still getting hits on youtube,” Tony says from behind the door. “You know, it’s not bad luck for the best man to see you before the wedding.”

“Co-best man,” Darcy says. “And shut up. We’re not letting anything touch Natasha’s dress until she walks down that aisle. Nothing is going to ruin this wedding.”

There’s a thump of footsteps, and Thor’s voice joins them. “Where is the fair bride?”

“In here, but fuck off,” Natasha calls.

Thor says, “I have not managed to find the villainous Bucky, who so shamefully decided to try to steal you away on this, the day of your we-”

“Get on with it.”

“-although I thought I saw him, and valiantly tackled him to the ground. It was not him, and did in fact turn out to be the photographer.”

Darcy looks at the door. “This  _so_  wouldn’t have happened if I was organizing this.”

“If you were organizing this, everyone would be eating macaroni and cheese and drinking out of paper cups,” Natasha says. “Thor, is he conscious?”

“Nay.”

“Does he look like he’d be good to keep going if he  _does_  wake up?”

“…Nay.”

“Fuck. Okay, get someone to- to, fuck, I don’t know, Pepper can’t handle this on top of everything else-”

“I have a cameraphone,” Tony says, tapping on the door.

Natasha makes a face, looking at Darcy.

Darcy wets her lips. “I am so not prepared for this, I was just supposed to be on dress-duty. My sole purpose is to make sure you stay in this room so no-one spills stuff down your dress.”

More footsteps, and Bruce pipes up: “She’s wearing the dress? How does she look?”

“Fucking gorgeous, Banner,” Natasha calls, crossing her legs under the dress. “You’ll all be horrendously jealous you didn’t try to hit this before Clint did.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Tony says. “Thor, go Bucky-patrolling. Bruce, go with him in case he accidentally kills someone. I’m going to go see if Steve and Clint have burned something down yet, will you two be okay in there?”

Again, Natasha looks at Darcy.

“Uh,” Darcy says. “We’re going to go out and have our last cigarette ever. Again. You still have that extra-strength toothpaste, right?”

“Duh.”

“Cool,” Darcy says, bending over to unzip her bag. “And a lighter?”

“Also duh.”

“Cool,” Darcy says again. “I promise not to get ash on your dress. Go check on the others, Tony, we’re good here.”

-

When Tony clicks the door closed, both Steve and Clint whirl towards him.

Tony backs up slightly. “Uh, okay. Why is Clint wearing boxers on his head?”

“Your fucking stylist,” Clint says, his voice shrill. “Your fucking stylist fucked up my head, and- and-” he yanks off the boxers.

Tony stifles a laugh, and Steve stifles a groan.

“Oh,” Tony says, his mouth twitching. “Wow. Purple highlights. That’s, um. Unique. It’ll really set off your eyes when you’re at the end of the aisle, seriously-”

“I fucking hate you,” Clint squeaks. “I can’t- I can’t get married like  _this_ , I look like a fucking parrot, you’re a horrible person-”

“Hey, whoa, when did this become my fault?”

“You recommended her!”

“Yeaaaaah. I may have been 19 and drunk when I actually  _went_  to her, so.”

Clint surges forwards like he’s going to strangle him, but Steve grabs his shoulders. “Clint, it’ll be fine. We’ll just, ah.”

Tony flashes him a grin. “We’ll what, Steve? The best man has to be prepared for anything.”

Steve glares at him, and Tony sighs. “Fine. I’ll go do my Tony thing. You guys sit here and… don’t start with the mating calls, Clint, I heard there were some native birds around here-”

Clint throws a shoe at him and Tony ducks out of the room, cackling.

“Clint, Jesus, it’ll be fine,” Steve says, hands raised like he’s calming a startled- well, he originally thought  _bird_ , but he honestly thinks Clint will strangle him if he even thinks it.

“It’ll be  _fine_?” Clint’s voice keeps rising in pitch. It’s actually quite disturbing.

Steve puts a hand on his shoulder, and then whips it off again when Clint literally growls at him. “Uh, yeah. It’ll be fine. It’ll be fine, because- because it’s your wedding day, and you’re marrying Natasha, so it’ll be great, no matter what.”

Clint stares at him. “You really think so?”

“I know so.”

“Okay,” Clint says. “Okay. Okay, that’s- good. No, it’s not good. It’s not good, because I’m marrying  _Natasha_  and oh, god, she won’t want to marry me if my hair is fucking  _purple_ -”

“Clint,” Steve warns, and Clint stops suddenly as he spots something on the dresser.

Steve follows his gaze to the electric razor, and they both jump for it at the same time.

-

Tony has his hand on the doorknob when Steve jerks it open.

“Clint shaved off half of his hair,” Steve blurts before Tony can say anything.

“He- what the f- I leave for _five minutes_  and-”

Steve closes the door behind him, and Tony looks down at the electric razor.

“Uh,” Steve says, holding it up. “This will be plan D, I guess?”

“What, shaving off all of his hair instead of just part of it?”

“Yes?” Steve grimaces as he puts it in his pocket, tucking it out of sight. “Okay, we need- we need something to cover his head.”

“What the hell are we supposed to do, get-” Tony stops, looking over Steve’s shoulder.

Steve turns, and blanches when he sees him. “No. No, Tony, we can’t-”

“We’re not going to  _steal_  it, we’re going to ask him nicely.”

“For his  _hair_?”

“For his toupee,” Tony corrects him, and Steve doesn’t have time to grab him before he’s sliding up to Clint’s grandfather.

He taps him on the shoulder, and Steve catches up just in time for Tony to say, “Hi! Mr. Barton, right?”

“Yes.”

“Nice to meet you. Heard a lot of great things about you. So, uh- your grandson might have accidentally shaved part of his head.”

Steve stops himself from rocking from foot to foot. Tony’s good at these things. He can handle this. He’s not going to grab the toupee off his head and run off.

Although Steve wouldn’t put it past him and oh, god, he’s in love with an idiot.

“And I was thinking, what if I, uh. What if I found something to cover the bald spot?” Tony clasps his hands together, looking expectantly at him.

Mr. Barton nods. “Well, I guess that’d work, but with what?”

Steve barely resists the urge to groan.

Tony, however, just grins wider. “Oh, I don’t know. A wig, of some sort? Maybe even… a toupee? Something that’s the same colour of his hair, which, hey, coincidentally happens to be your hair colour. Would you look at that!”

“Huh,” Mr. Barton says, still nodding. “That is a tough one. So, we need to find someone with the same hair colour as me and Clint.”

“…Yeah,” Tony says. “Yeah, that’d be about right. So, can you think of anyone?”

Mr. Barton shrugs, which looks pretty dangerous, considering he broke his hip a few months ago from getting out of bed. “Well, it should be easy. Most of them are pretty bad.”

“Yes, Mr. Barton. They certainly are.”

Steve gives himself a second to wonder how this turned out to be his life, before Pepper is striding up to them, giving Mr. Barton her best smile (which resembles Tony’s in the creepiest way) and taking the toupee off the top of his head.

“Sorry, sir,” she says over Mr. Barton’s spluttering, and grabs both Steve and Tony by their arms, dragging them away.

“You’re terrifying,” Steve tells her, bewildered, and gets a smile in return.

-

Tony thinks everyone should just stop opening doors, because every time they do, something bad happens.

They all stare at Thor, who is shirtless under his jacket.

Finally, Pepper says, “Thor, why aren’t you wearing a shirt?”

Thor looks down like he hadn’t noticed. “I spilled sauce on it when I tackled who I thought was to be Bucky.”

Clint blanches. “ _Bucky’s_  here?”

“Thor, put a shirt on,” Pepper sighs. “Yes, Bucky’s here, but Thor’s… looking for him.”

“Aye,” Thor says. “Rest assured, he will not be here for long, friend Clint. I shall get him out of here as soon as I find him.”

Tony puts a hand over his eyes. “Knowing him, he’ll probably be hiding under the stairs. Steve, I hate your friends.”

Steve frowns, and Clint grabs him. “Steve. Steve, I need air. I need some air. Air is good.”

Pepper adjusts her Bluetooth. “Guys, take him out for air. Take that damn toupee off of him, he looks like- like- like his grandfather, for god’s sake. Thor, give up on Bucky for the time being, we have more important things to take care of, like making sure the groom doesn’t have a complete mental breakdown.”

Clint gurgles slightly.

-

“Oh, crap,” Steve says, and starts to steer Clint in the other direction, but Natasha and Darcy have already seen them by then.

“Holy  _fuck_ ,” Darcy says, looking at the bald patch on Clint’s purple-streaked head. “What the fuck happened?”

“Tony’s stylist,” Clint says, glaring over at Tony. “Tony’s stylist is what happened, and then I may have had a slight freakout and shaved half of my head in blind panic.”

Natasha’s mouth quirks up. “That’s my Clint.”

Clint makes a depressed sound in the back of his throat, and then frowns. “Are you guys smoking?”

Natasha looks down to where she’s holding her cigarette. She drops it, stubs it out with her foot and sweeps it away. “Uh, yeah. Darcy said it’d be poetic, having my last cigarette on my wedding day.”

“End of an era,” Darcy says, holding her cigarette up like a salute. “Or something.”

“Fuck,” Clint says, putting his head in his hands. “Fuck, I fucked up the whole thing, didn’t I?”

Natasha, the loving woman she is, swats him in the back of the head. “No, you moron, the wedding was already fucked. The flowers aren’t here, Thor tackled the photographer, my veil got thrashed, and Steve’s buddy Bucky is here, thanks for that, by the way.”

Steve folds his arms. “Well, I didn’t think-”

“I  _know_ ,” Natasha says. “The wedding’s fucked, okay? I just- I don’t know why I expected anything but that to happen. I never wanted this huge wedding in the first place, I wanted the stupid backyard wedding with, like, 15 chairs and a punch bowl.”

There’s a pause, where Natasha slips her hand into Clint’s and doesn’t look at his hair, because if she does, she’ll burst out laughing and it’ll ruin the moment.

Then, Tony claps his hands together, hard. “Okay, fuck this. You don’t want a big wedding? You won’t get one. We’ll do this right here, right now. Steve, call everyone. The important people, anyway.”

Clint makes a face. “Tony, what the fuck are you-”

“Phil can do the vows,” Steve says, frowning. “He got a licence for it for his daughter’s wedding a few years ago.”

Tony stares. “How do you  _know_  this shit- okay, whatever. Coulson can do the vows, and Steve can go inside and steal that guy’s guitar. You guys did want guitar music, right?”

“Right,” Clint says, smiling reluctantly. “But there’s about two hundred people inside, and I think it’d piss them off if we sent them all home without seeing my hot bride walking down the aisle.”

Darcy shrugs. “Have that one after. That way, when everything goes to shit, you won’t care, because you just had the baddass wedding out here.”

Tony grins. “Fuck to the yes. Steve, guitar. Darcy: Avengers Assemble.”

“Wait, wait, wait-” Darcy sticks her arm out, waving towards a very confused Phil Coulson, who has just started towards them from the building. “Hey, Coulson, can we borrow your hat?”

Coulson opens his mouth, and then his eyes land on Clint. He makes a restrained snorting sound, pressing his lips together, and hands the hat to Darcy.

She hugs him, not giving him time to hug back before she lets go, before walking back over and jamming the hat on Clint’s head.

Clint stares at her for a second before straightening up, turning to look at Steve and Tony. “ _Hat_. We thought of authentic American headdress before  _hat_.”

Natasha laughs, and pulls it down over his eyes.

-

Apart from Coulson, Clint and Natasha, everyone sits on the grass.

Thor sobs. Like a little baby. Bruce, Pepper, Tony and Steve tear up, no matter how much they deny it. Hell, even Coulson’s voice catches when he says, ‘you may kiss the bride.’

Darcy is the only dry-eyed one, and she mocks everyone else mercilessly. Well, her and Natasha, who gracefully pretends not to notice her new husband’s wet cheeks.

It’s freezing- everyone shivers their way through glasses of champagne they managed to sneak out from the building (except for Tony, who drinks lemonade and complains bitterly about it), and everyone hugs each other before going back inside.

The second wedding is a disaster, and no-one really cares, because when they look back on it, they remember throwing grass at each other, and Steve teaching Bruce how to play ‘Mary had a little lamb’ on the guitar, and making Clint chase Darcy to get Coulson’s hat back, and grinning through the whole thing.

So all in all, the wedding that everyone else sees is kind of crappy. The wedding cake gets smashed halfway through, and almost crushes a toddler before Thor drags her away just in time. Also, Steve manages to get Bucky to leave without a fuss. Or at least he attempts to, before Thor tackles him.

The dancing, however, is actually kind of nice. They all manage to avoid awkward questions about the grass stains, and Clint and Natasha only have eyes for each other as they spin slowly in the middle of the dance floor.

Steve dances with everyone- he does the twist with Darcy, and steps on Bruce’s feet, and almost trips over Thor when he gets spun around.

Finally, he swallows a glass of orange punch, his pride, and an aspirin. He walks up to Tony, who is twirling Pepper, and taps him on the shoulder. “Hey, Pep. Mind if I steal him away?”

“Not at all,” Pepper says, giving him a look that he’s been getting too often lately when he’s around Tony.

Tony has this small, pleased smile, and it warms Steve’s stomach more than the orange punch does. “I thought you’d never ask, Cap.”

“Liar,” Steve says, and brushes his fingers over Tony’s wrist as he takes his hand. It’s skittering all over the place.

It takes a while for them to get in step, but they fit together.

Tony leads, because they both know that getting Steve to lead would end in them both pitching sideways into the table. His hands are on Steve’s shoulders, and Steve’s are on his hips.

“Good wedding,” Steve says quietly, resting his head on Tony’s shoulder.

He can feel how rigid Tony is; the hard lines of his shoulders as he tries to relax. “Best wedding I’ve ever been to, actually.”

“How many weddings have you been to?”

“This one.”

“Nice.”

“Thank you, I’m very proud.”

He’s warm. He’s warm, he’s burning up in his hands, and he grins into Tony’s neck. “We should’ve done this at the prom.”

“What, danced?”

“Yeah.”

“Why, you like dancing with me?”

“I do,” Steve says, and then seriously reconsiders his choice of words when he realizes they’re at a  _wedding_ , and Tony has gotten even stiffer under his hands. “I mean, you’re a good dancer.”

“Used to do it a lot,” Tony says. “Never really liked it until recently.”

“How recently?”

There’s a silence, and he feels Tony relax into him, just a little. “Recently.”

Steve nods into his neck. “Hey, Tony?”

“Yeah?”

It’d be so easy. It’d be so easy to say it, or to press his lips against Tony’s neck, or tip his head back and kiss him, in front of everyone.

And even though he can’t see them, he knows Tony’s eyes are so, so bright in the wedding lights.

But he swallows, and puts it off another day, like he’s been doing for a while now. “Thanks for the dance.”

“Anytime,” Tony says, and there’s something else in his voice, something that sets of a flare in Steve’s throat.

They keep swaying as the music winds down, as the crowd starts to disperse and the lights dim, and Steve keeps resting his head against Tony’s neck, breathing in, in case this is the last chance he gets.


	10. Paddleboating Sucks Ass (or, Peggy is smarter than everyone)

Three hours ago, Steve had met Peggy for lunch.

Just lunch, no strings attached, and she had flicked him in the ear when he had told her that he hasn’t told Tony he’s in love with him yet.

And Steve doesn’t remember what he had said before it, or what he had ordered, he just remembers Peggy’s ringlets falling in curls over her collarbones and the slant of the light onto the table as she had said,  _what’s stopping you_?

What’s stopping him is that they’ve been friends for years, and Steve honestly doesn’t know what he’ll do with himself if he screws up and loses that. What’s stopping him is that even if Tony does want him like Steve wants him, Tony still thinks he destroys everything he touches, up to and including Steve.

What’s stopping him is that Tony is beautiful, one of the most beautiful men that Steve’s ever met, and he’s blazing where Steve’s dull, he’s fast where Steve’s dragging along, he’s brilliant and irritating and loud where Steve’s boring and calm and quiet.

What’s stopping him is that he wants Tony so much he wakes up thinking of Tony’s hands on his ribs, his tongue on his lips, his bedhair and the bags under his eyes and the rough scars on his fingers.

What’s stopping him is that neither of them are good with relationships, most of all what Steve’s offering.

What’s stopping him is that Tony will run away, he’ll get scared and say no even if everything inside him is screaming  _yes_.

And Steve doesn’t even know his last name, or where he went to college, or what colour his mother’s hair was, or if he has any brothers or sisters, or who loved him when he was growing up. He doesn’t know half of the things that are important, but he knows the other half- Tony’s atrocious need for black coffee, his disjointed sleep schedule, how he avoids beer while spending half of his time in a bar, how he always has change in his pocket, how he tips Coulson too much every time he gets out of the cab.

How his fingers start to shake when he’s been awake for too long, or when he’s needing a drink so badly he tastes it in the back of his throat, even though he hasn’t touched the stuff in years.

How he holds on too long when Pepper hugs him; kisses her on the cheek too often, like _thank you for being there when no-one else gave a shit._

How he’s always so surprised when someone shows genuine affection, and covers it up with a smirk and an eyeroll and a retort that makes Steve blush to no end.

And he’s still thinking about it, three hours later:  _what’s stopping you_ , in Peggy’s voice, running over and over in his head like a broken record.

Because Tony is grinning when he sees him, and everything suddenly falls away, and Steve can’t think of any reasons why he shouldn’t kiss him hello.

He doesn’t, because he knows the drill by now, but his gaze lingers too long on Tony’s mouth.

Tony says something, and Steve loses it in the slack curve of his lips, how they purse around the ‘o’.

Then Darcy’s snapping her fingers in front of his face, and Steve blinks, shakes himself out of it. “What?”

Darcy bumps her eyebrows towards Tony, smiling knowingly. “If you’re not busy?”

Steve feels his cheeks heat. “What? No, I wasn’t- uh, Bruce said-”

“He did indeed,” Bruce says, tucking his sunglasses into his pocket. “In honour of my official induction to the Avengers, I thought I’d have us all do something stupid and childish that will probably result in us getting arrested, killed, or mugged.”

Tony mimes wiping a tear away. “I’m so proud.”

Steve claps him Bruce on the back. “Good to have you officially induced, I guess. What do you have planned?”

Bruce looks slightly pained to say it. “Paddleboating.”

“…Paddleboating.”

“Paddleboating,” Bruce repeats, nodding. “Not the most outrageous of outings, I know, but-”

“We’ll make it up as we go along,” Tony says, looking up. “We’ll- we’ll kidnap a monkey on the way back. Or something.”

Steve shares a look with Bruce, like,  _are you regretting this yet_?

-

“Hey, I’m not trying to stress anyone out,” Darcy calls, “but what’s their policy if one of us drowns?”

“They probably give us a refund,” Tony yells, trying to shove himself away from the bank.

Steve tries to focus on getting his damn pedals to work. He nudges at them, then kicks at them, and finally they budge and Steve slots his feet into them. “We can’t drown in this, guys. It’s seven inches of water.”

“We could drown,” Darcy says, wobbling so much Steve’s genuinely afraid she’s going to fall in, “if we lie horizontally.”

“Why would you-”

“I’m just pointing it out. We totally could.”

“Well, then, I’m sure they’ll give us that refund.” Steve reaches around awkwardly to grab at the steering stick, and pulls it so he starts to float to the right. “Bruce, you okay back there?”

He glances back, and Bruce is- is-

“I’m fine,” Bruce calls from in front of him, and Steve looks up to see that he’s about eight metres in front of them all, and paddling steadily.

His boat jolts to the side, and he twists to see Darcy grinning at him, gliding backwards jerkily.

“You think we can turn this into bumper cars? Just, y’know, on water?”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not allowed,” Steve says, trying to steer so he won’t crash into the bank if he moves forwards.

Tony speeds past him, flicking water at him as he does. “Boooring. Hey, Brucie! Bet you 2000 bucks someone will end up falling in.”

“I don’t know,” Bruce says, peddling backwards to meet him. “They seem pretty steady. And I don’t have 2000 dollars.”

“I can lend you 200 dollars.”

“I’m not letting you lend me 2000 dollars just so I can give it back to you.”

Tony snorts, leaning back in the paddleboat. “Whatever. Hey, this is actually kind of easy.”

“Famous last words,” Bruce says, and Tony shoves his boat with both hands so Bruce grabs onto the bar.

Tony paddles away, cackling, and Bruce starts paddling after him, trying to lean so his boat stops rocking.

Darcy and Steve fumble awkwardly with the peddles as they try to catch up, shouting at the others to slow down, and Steve has to swerve to avoid running over a duck at least three times in the next ten minutes.

They have an hour to kill- they spend it crashing into things (i.e. each other’s boats, the river bank, and a pesky tree with branches that span out over the width of the river which ends up smacking Bruce in the face), and after a while, when their feet feel like they’re going to fall off, Darcy announces that they have about twenty minutes left and they can drift the rest of the way back, thanks to the current.

Steve lets his feet rest on the paddles, and it’s not until Tony props his feet up onto the front of the boat that Steve realizes he can, too.

“This is nice,” Steve says, pushing his fingers together behind his head and sliding down.

“Yeeeep,” Tony says. “And also incredibly boring. Where’s the shenanigans? Where’s the nudity? I want stories to tell afterwards, damnit!”

Bruce shrugs. “Maybe I picked paddleboating because it was annoyingly mediocre and normal. Maybe we need a bit of normal sometimes.”

“That,” Tony says, “is the worst piece of crap I’ve ever heard.”

“Seconded,” Darcy says. “I want nudity and shenanigans.”

Bruce hums, letting his fingers trail through the water. “I don’t know about shenanigans, but my phone plays music.”

Tony looks over at him. “You want us to lie in our paddleboats with our feet up, listen to music and drift the entire way back, with absolutely no shenanigans whatsoever?”

“Yes.”

“I think it’d be nice,” Steve says, looking over at him. “What music, Bruce?”

Tony snorts quietly. “’my phone plays music.’ It’s 2012, everyone’s phone plays music. I’m actually offended you insinuated that someone people’s phones-”

“My phone doesn’t play music,” Steve cuts him off, watching the ducks at the side of the river.

He looks over, and laughs when he sees Tony’s wounded expression. “It’s not a big deal. I just use it to text and call people, I don’t need it for anything else.”

“You- that’s a fucking tragedy, Steve! Does it at least have a camera?”

“Nope.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Tony groans, pressing a palm to his eyes. “Okay, first thing when we get to shore, I’m upgrading your phone.”

“I don’t need-”

Tony glares at him warningly. “The only reason I’m doing it right now is that you’ll drop it in the river if I try to get you to hand it over.”

Steve considers this. “True,” he admits, adjusting his head so his neck isn’t being jutted into by a piece of plastic. “Bruce, music?”

-

They listen to ‘Tommy and Krista’ on repeat the whole way back, and Tony almost gets himself chased by a goose at some point, but other than that, it’s very uneventful.

Tony gets out of his paddleboat and wobbles a bit. “Wow, that feels weird. I thought they were joking about getting your sea-legs. Or river-legs. Whatever. Well, that was tragically boring. Steve, phone?”

“No.”

“Come ooooon-”

“No, Tony. I like my phone how it is.”

He walks past Tony’s pout, ties his paddleboat to the pole, and goes over to help Darcy so she won’t keel over into the river as she’s getting out of the boat.

Tony sighs. “No-one even got soaked. Or bitten by an eel. This was really, horrifically boring, thank you, Bruce. You’re an insult to your ancestors.”

“Not every day has to be an adventure,” Steve says, taking the rope on Darcy’s boat and knotting it to the same pole he had done to his. “There has to be days where you can just… be.”

“Very profound, Steve. We should put that on a bumper sticker.”

“It’d give better pay than what I’m doing now,” Steve admits, making sure his phone isn’t wet before putting it back in his pocket, away from Tony’s grabbing hands. “Home?”

Tony gives him the eye, but he shrugs. “Home, I guess. Unless you want to go to the zoo and steal that monkey.”

“I’m not in the mood for monkey-stealing,” Bruce says, tugging Tony towards the taxi where Coulson’s waiting. “Come on, I’ll pay.”

Tony hits him in the shoulder. “I’m infinitely richer than you, asshole. I’ll pay.”

“I can’t tell if that was a compliment or an insult,” Darcy says, nodding towards the guy who had given them their tickets. “Either way, I’m cool with him always paying for our cab fares. Less money for me to spend.”

Tony stretches, the long lines of his shoulders pulling at Steve’s gaze. “Yeah, well. Bruce and Steve have morals, or some shit. It gets to be really irritating at times.”

“Thanks,” Bruce says, opening the car door. “Hey, Coulson. Been here long?”

Coulson just waves them in, putting his book down and reaching to twist the keys in the ignition.

-

Steve doesn’t realize his shirt is flecked with water until he gets to the apartment, and at that point, Tony is making his way towards the kitchen.

He looks up, and Tony is holding a box. “What’d you think, macaroni and cheese, oooor… microwaveable pasta?”

Steve smiles. “We could just order in again.”

Tony’s answering smile could cure cancer and give birth to puppies. “Good thinking, 99. Hey, your shirt’s wet.”

Steve looks down, one hand coming up to rub at the hem. “Yeah, I just noticed. Probably happened when you flicked water at me. Repeatedly.”

“Oops,” Tony says, flopping down on the couch. “So, pizza?”

“Pizza,” Steve agrees, walking towards the washhouse. He peels off his shirt and lobs it into the washing basket, noting distantly that they need more fabric softener as he does.

He fiddles with the adjustments to make sure they’re how he likes them for next time they do the washing, and then makes his way across the lounge.

He can feel Tony’s eyes on him the entire way- hot and heady and glancing away every few seconds, before getting pulled back. But he doesn’t look, he grabs the first shirt he can find and shrugs it on, and it bags around his elbows.

Tony has the TV on and a remote in his hand when he comes out of his room.

“Pizza,” Tony repeats, nodding at the phone. “The usual. You know what I like.”

Steve nods. “Later. I want to get some drawing done first.”

Tony glances at him, his eyes slipping over his face, his chest, his legs. “Okay.”

These are some of his favourite evenings: Tony watches TV, or writes equations, and Steve draws. It’s comfortable, and domestic, and Steve always catches Tony looking at him whenever he looks up.

He remembers:  _you stole a blue French horn for me_.

And the unguarded look in Tony’s face as he had said _, I’d steal a whole orchestra for you_.

 _I know you would_ , Steve thinks to himself, watching the light from the lamp drag across Tony’s face, down his collar.

It’d be so easy to lean in, to scrape his teeth over the light that’s pooling at Tony’s neck.

And he hears it; Peggy’s voice, loud and bell-like:  _What’s stopping you_?

 _Too many things_ , Steve replies stupidly.  _And I can’t keep track of them, and I keep losing them whenever I look over at him_.

Tony reaches up to rub at the back of his neck, and Steve loses himself in it.


	11. Accidentally Loving Your Best Friend (or, that pineapple will haunt you in your dreams)

When Tony walks in, Darcy, Thor and Bruce are all sitting around Clint’s kitchen table, staring at a pineapple.

Tony just stands there for a moment, before closing the door behind him and making them all jerk up. “Hey, guys. What’s with the pineapple?”

Darcy gives him a three-fingered wave. “We have no idea where it came from. We all got outrageously trashed last night, and now we can’t remember how it got here. We’ve been trying to jog out memories for the past hour.”

Tony lets his cup drop onto the bench with a  _clang_ , and grins when they all wince. “Yeah? Are you sure you’re not just trying to ignore the raging hangover?”

“That, too,” Thor says, wincing. “Is everything prepared for Steve’s feast tonight?”

“Party,” Tony corrects him. “And yeah, everything’s done. Tasha and Clint are supposed to be back for it, but their flight got cancelled again and I don’t think they’ll make it.”

“Mmm,” Bruce nods into his arms. “Whatever. Just get him to come up to the roof at 8, and we’ll be fine. Shouldn’t be hard; he’ll be dying to stretch his damn legs after being in here all day.”

“He’s staying in here all day?”

Bruce sits up; rubs his eyes with the back of his hand. “I think so. He’s been working on those new pieces for the past two days, I don’t see why he’d stop now.”

Tony makes a face, flicking the coffee pot on. “It’s his  _birthday_.”

“He’s an artist, he does… art stuff,” Darcy says, and yawns widely before continuing. “Pretty sure that’s more important to him than his birthday. He always tries to refuse expensive gifts, anyway.”

“ _Every_  year,” Tony sighs. “Okay, I’ll come back later, I guess. Have fun wallowing.”

He takes a sip of his coffee, and slams the door extra-hard on the way out.

He snorts into his mug when he hears them all start swearing.

-

Eight hours later, the pineapple is still in the apartment, and so is Steve.

Tony nudges at him, whining. “Come on, Steve! You’ve been in here for three days now and you’re starting to get really, really boring. Come up to the roof with me and have a drink.”

“You don’t drink,” Steve says, not looking up from his paper.

“Well, then you can drink and I can- have a juice. God, not drinking sucks. Look, just come to the roof with me.”

“Can’t,” Steve says, dusting eraser marks from his paper. “These things don’t finish themselves.”

Tony sighs loudly, rolling his head sideways. “You’re a bundle of fun today. For fuck’s sake, Steve, it’s your birthday! Come up to the roof!”

Steve finally looks up, turning in his seat. “Why the heck do you want me to come up to the roof so badly? What, are you throwing me a surprise party again?”

“You can’t have  _two_  surprise parties in a  _row_ , Steve,” Tony says, realizing it just that second and wanting to hit himself over the head.

Steve just rolls his eyes, hunching back over his paper. “Right. Well, have fun on the roof.”

“I will,” Tony says, and gets up, shoving the window open. “I’ll have a great time on the roof. I’ll have a fucking awesome time, and you’ll be so jealous.”

“Good for you,” Steve says absently, reaching for an eraser.

Tony pulls the finger at him behind his back, and starts climbing the ladder. He makes it up to the top, and leans over. “Hey, guys. He still won’t come up.”

A collective groan rises up.

“Fuck this,” Darcy says into her hands. “It’s freezing. Can we just take the party inside?”

“No,” Thor frowns. “It is a surprise party, and Steve shall be surprised. Then we shall all drink and make merry. Except for Tony.”

Tony raises an eyebrow at him. “Thank you, Thor, for once again bringing up my alcoholism. Always an icebreaker, that one is. Well, obviously I take the blame for this. There’s only one thing to do about it.”

He pulls his jacket off, throws it to Pepper- she catches it, glares at him, and sets it on the table- and starts towards the ledge.

“To- _ny_ ,” Pepper sighs as he steps up onto the ledge.

“I can totally do it this time,” Tony calls back, both feet flat. “This time, I’m going to jump it.”

“You’ll fall and die,” Pepper says flatly. “And I’ll have to deal with the paperwork.”

“Nice to know you care, Pep.”

Darcy continues to breathe into her hands, rubbing them together. “Tony, get down. You haven’t jumped that gap for five years, and you won’t now.”

“Lies,” Tony says, staring at the porch of the next building over, the one with the hot tub and the awesome deck that he still hasn’t gotten to in the entire time he’s lived here. “This time, I swear.”

-

Ten minutes later, Tony is still on the ledge, and Pepper’s phone starts ringing.

She tears her eyes away from Tony, and flips it open. “Hello?”

“Pep,” Steve whispers. “Do you remember that goat that Darcy brought so it didn’t have to get brutally slaughtered the next day?”

“…Yes?”

“It’s in the apartment.”

“ _It’s in the_ -” Pepper stops. Takes a second to absorb that this is, in fact, her life. Says, “Okay. Where is-”

“I locked it in the bathroom.”

“That… was very smart, Steve. Good job. Just- stay in the lounge, okay? Ignore it until someone else gets there.”

“Uh,” Steve says. “Okay. I- wait, are you on the roof?”

“No,” Pepper says, too shrill. “What? Why?”

A pause. “Because I can hear Tony saying something about ‘this time, he’s totally going to do it.’”

 _Damn him_. “Oh, yeah. Yeah, I, uh- he’s trying to jump the ledge again.”

There’s a sound, half between a sigh and a laugh. “Really? Again?”

“Again,” Pepper says. “I’ll send someone down for the goat, okay?”

“Oka-”

Steve’s reply is cut off by a guttural scream, and Pepper jerks away from the phone. The screaming continues, and Pepper makes out a bleating sound before everything dissolves into dial tone.

Pepper stares wordlessly at the phone for a second, before snapping it shut, shoving it into her pocket and running over to yank at Tony’s shirt.

Tony groans, turning around. “Pep, I can totally-”

“Steve got mauled by a goat,” Pepper blurts, and Tony freezes.

“Seriously?”

“Seriou-”

Pepper doesn’t get to finish, because Tony is using her shoulders to help him get down, and then is sprinting across the roof, towards the ladder.

When he flings a leg over, Bruce moves out of the way so he doesn’t get hit. “What ha-”

“Stevegotmauledbyagoat.”

Tony’s head disappears down the ladder, and Bruce blinks at the space where it was.

He turns to Pepper, mouth open to ask.

“Don’t,” Pepper says. “It’s easier if you just roll with it.”

-

The first words out of the nurse’s mouth is, “Steve Rogers, is it? The guy who tried to make it with a goat?”

Darcy bursts into giggles and claps a hand over her mouth, but everyone else just glares.

Steve says, “I would  _never_ -”

“If anything, that goat tried to make it with him,” Tony talks over him, smiling tightly. “Can we go now?”

The nurse clicks her pen as she glances over her chart. “Yep, looks like everything’s in order. But remember, buddy:  _baaa_  means  _baaa_.”

Again, Darcy starts giggling, probably due to sleep deprivation and one too many gin and tonics.

Bruce eases himself out of his chair. “Well, this was fun. I’ll go get Coulson, shall I?”

“Mm,” Tony says. “I’ll help the goat-savaged victim out of here. Pep, go be a dear and pay Coulson. Here’s a twenty.”

“And, uh,” Steve says, and if Tony didn’t know any better, he’d think that the back of Steve’s neck was red. “Darcy, can you take Thor for a coffee? You know how he gets when he’s sleepy.”

Darcy starts to protest, but then she catches Steve’s eye, who is- looking at Tony?

“Okay,” Darcy says quickly. “Come on, Thor.”

Thor is frowning at the both of them, but allows himself to be dragged out behind Pepper and Bruce, leaving Tony alone in the room with Steve.

Which Tony is very, very confused about, and Steve is  _definitely_  blushing now.

“So,” Steve says, not looking at him. “Uh. You tried to make the leap again?”

“Yep,” Tony says, trying to sort through the haze of not having slept for 26 hours, and how Steve looks unfairly adorable right now, with his hair messed up and his eyes bright from the hospital lights. “Didn’t do it. Obviously. Don’t you have that thing to get to? The art thingy?”

“Oh,” Steve says, looking up. Then, “ _Oh_. Yes, I do, but that’s- later.”

“If you’re late, you could always tell them you were mauled by a goat.”

Steve’s gaze turns steely, and Tony grins. “What? No-one would make up something that ridiculous.”

“Thank you,” Steve says coolly. “That’s very helpful.”

“Uh-huh,” Tony says, picking at the plastic bedspread. “What’s it about, anyway?”

“Hmm?”

“The art thingy.”

Steve blinks. “It’s- it’s about the, uh. It’s about the Avengers.”

Tony snorts. “You’re drawing us?”

“As superheroes,” Steve says quietly, looking back down at his hands. “As- the ones we talk about, you know. Iron Man and Hawkeye and-”

“Cap,” Tony smirks. “And everyone else. That’s- that’s actually really great, Steve. What happens in them?”

Steve shrugs, his flush deepening. “I don’t have a fully fleshed-out plotline yet. We’ll all be, uh. We’ll all be kind of alone before we form the team, I think. Lost. And then we come together, and we fight, and it’s- better. It’s not really focused on the superhero side of things, honestly. It’s more about their humanity than their alter-egos.”

Tony crosses his arms, leaning back in his chair. “I don’t know, I’d like to read about Iron Man more than I’d read about Tony.”

Steve looks up at him again, under his lashes, and Tony suddenly finds it hard to breathe. “But I like drawing both. The armour is – it’s beautiful, and bold, and it’s impossible to ignore, but- so are you. I’d read about Tony, if I had the choice.”

Tony has no idea how to respond to that. He gets kind of stuck on  _beautiful_ , and his brain starts glossing over important things like inhaling and blinking, and when he finally pulls himself back, Steve is staring at his hands again, his blush more prominent than ever.

“Okay,” Tony croaks, and clears his throat. This time, it comes out more steady. “Okay. Can’t wait to read about it, I guess.”

He tries to catch Steve’s eye, then decides that that’d probably be dangerous, and looks out the window. “Should we catch up to the others? Darcy hates to be kept waiting-”

“I like you,” Steve says, and Tony jerks like he’s been electrocuted.

But Steve, because he’s a moron, continues. “I like you, and I’m not going to say the other thing, because I’ve made that mistake before and it ended up with you stealing a blue French horn for me for no reason. I like you more than a friend, and I’ve tried to stop more times than I can count, but I- and I know you feel the same way, and I know that we’re both inexplicable idiots when it comes to this, but- god, Tony, I think we could be incredible.”

Tony doesn’t look at him. He keeps his gaze trained firmly out the window, but his voice is ripped to shit when he speaks. “Steve, that has got to be one of- one of the  _worst_  ideas you’ve ever had, and that’s including that time you tried to fly to Japan to win Sharon back.”

Steve hesitates. “I know we both have horrible track records with these kind of things-”

“Yeah, no  _shit_ ,” Tony shrills. “Apart from Pep, I’ve never even had a romantic relationship, Steve! That makes my grand total amount to one person, and I sucked at it. I am royally crappy at people, Steve, and you know it.”

“I noticed,” Steve says, and when Tony looks at him, he stares straight back. “I know, and I don’t care. Heck, I think we’ve done pretty well for ourselves. We’ve both found a close group of friends, and we’ve kept them for years.  _We’ve_  been friends for years, Tony, and I don’t want to screw that up.”

“Then what are you-”

“Making it  _better_ ,” Steve says, sort of desperate and sort of restrained, and all parts horrible. “We- it’d just be like normal, except-”

“Sex?”

“No! Well, yes, but- I wouldn’t have to shove down whatever I feel when the light hits you. Or when you do something that shows how much you actually care, and then try to get us not to notice. I wouldn’t have to stop myself from feeling that way around you, because I- I don’t know, I’d just lean over and kiss you, or take your hand, or tell you I love you.”

Tony pales slightly, his hands tightening on the hospital sheets, and Steve backtracks. “I mean- we’d go as slow as you’d need to, I wouldn’t force anything on you. I just- could we just- could you have your time to freak out, and then come back and tell me?”

Steve is blushing so hard his entire face is going red, but he keeps going. “And I need you to come back, because I don’t want to lose you over this. And if you’re scared, or if you’re not ready, or something’s wrong, then- then come back, and we can be friends. I can do that for you.”

He swallows, his eyes painfully bright, and Tony can’t look at him now, can’t go through with this when Steve is looking at him in a way that makes him want things he’s never allowed himself to want.

“I can do that for you,” Steve repeats. “But I’ll try again. I’ll always try again, whether it’s months or years after. I’ll keep trying, because we both want this, no matter what’s in the way. But you can- you can take all the time you need. I won’t hold it against you. Just come back after, okay?”

Tony stays silent. For a second, he just stares at the sheets, at his knuckles stretched white over the white sheets, framed by the white floor, the white curtains.

He gets up, feeling Steve’s eyes on him all the way to the door. “I’ll… I’ll think about it.”

Steve opens his mouth, and then pauses. He says, “And you’ll come back?”

 _I couldn’t stay away if I tried,_ Tony almost says. _Probably be a better man if I did._

“Duh,” he says instead, and the door clicks closed behind him.

-

He walks for a while.

And by that he means he walks until he hits the street with the influx of Mexican drag queen hookers, which means he’s been walking for an hour, at least.

He stops when he gets to the end of that street; leans on the side of a building, and breathes.

Which happens to make him want a cigarette, because apparently breathing does that to you.

He stands there dumbly against the wall for a few more seconds, before stuffing his hand into his pocket and checking he has change. He has two twenties and- a lighter. Huh.

He bums a cigarette off a friendly Mexian drag queen, Linda, and retreats back to the wall, breathing in deeply. He smokes in silence, until his fingers start to burn against it and he drops it, stubbing it out with the toe of his shoe.

“Fuck,” he announces to the empty alley, and distantly wonders if he should have brought pepper spray if he was going to walk down this way.

He rubs a hand over his face, tasting ash and wanting another cigarette, and also a malt whiskey, but that’s a normal craving, so he ignores it.

“Last cigarette ever, for sure this time,” he says, and laughs to himself.

He turns, knocking his head against the wall a few times, before giving up and resting his forehead against the bricks. “Fuck.  _Fuck_.”

Fuck, because he and Steve are a horrible idea on the best of days. Fuck, because he’s been wanting this since the first time he met him, and he never actually thought he could have it.

Fuck, because he had just been offered everything on a plate, and he had walked out.

He grits his teeth. Why  _had_  he walked out?

Because he’s emotionally constipated. Because Steve’s too good for him. Because he’d fuck it up. Because he sucks.

And Steve knows that. He knows how screwed up Tony is, and he’s never tried to fix him. He’s never tries to make him better, or send him off to rehab. He’s always just been a hand on his back, rubbing circles into the knob of his spine. He’s been with Tony even when Tony didn’t want to be with himself.

 _Just try it,_  he thinks furiously to himself.  _Just try it, and see if he’s happy with you. See if you can actually make him happy, and see how long it takes before you fuck this up_.

He stands there for too long, with his head matted against the bricks and his mouth still tasting like ash and his hands aching for Steve.

And it takes another cigarette and a mouthful of toothpaste, but he starts walking back to Clint’s apartment again.

-

Steve doesn’t look up for a few seconds after he tells them.

When he does, everyone is staring.

“Well, fuck,” Darcy says, eyes wide. “That was dumb.”

Pepper swats her. “You’ve been rooting for them for three years!”

Darcy rubs at her arm where Pepper had hit her, holding the pineapple close to her chest. “Duh, but I didn’t expect either of them to actually wise up and try it! I mean, fuck, Steve, your timing sucks!”

“I’m glad you did it,” Bruce says. “It’s about time one of you did. And Tony will get his head around it eventually.”

“Aye,” Thor says. “You are both entwined by fate. Everything will work out, friend Steve, you shall see.”

Steve nods silently, fiddling with his thumbs.

Pepper sighs quietly, raising a hand to her head. “Look, Steve, it wasn’t a smart idea, but it was a good idea. And Tony- well, Tony’s a moron. But he’ll get over himself. At some point, one of you just had to get some guts and… take the leap, I guess.”

Steve nods again, and then stops.

He sits up, looking at her. “Yeah. Yeah, we did, didn’t we?”

Pepper blinks at him, and watches as Steve gets up, and swings one leg out the window.

Everyone looks at each other, and there’s a second where it clicks.

Pepper rushes to the window first, yelling, “Metaphorical leap,  _metaphorical_  leap, you stupid-”

She follows him up to the roof, and by the time everyone makes their way up- Thor, Bruce, Darcy behind her- Steve is balancing on the ledge, one leg angled out.

Pepper says, “Steve, I swear to god-”

“Steve?”

Steve looks back, and Tony has his head poked out over the ladder.

Tony climbs off, onto the roof, and stands next to Pepper.

Steve grins. “Hey, Tony.”

And then he jumps, and everyone’s screaming, and Steve’s feet hit the ground and he rolls, coming to a stop just before the hot tub that the patio has.

He stands up in absolute silence, his eyes wide, his smile brimming over, and Bruce starts to whoop.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Darcy yells, and starts laughing, bent over, her hands on her knees.

“I did it,” Steve says giddily. “Tony, look, I did it!”

“You did it,” Tony says. “Holy shit, I’ve been trying to do that forever and you did it in thirty seconds, you suck and I hate you-”

But they’re laughing, everyone’s laughing, and then Darcy’s climbing onto the ledge, pineapple in hand, and Thor is cheering.

Darcy jumps, and she skids along the planks, crashing into Steve and dissolving into laughter, dropping onto her ass and staying there, giggling, still clinging to the pineapple.

Thor jumps next, flailing in the air and landing on both feet, hugging Steve so hard he lifts him off his feet.

Then Bruce, screaming in a pitch that Steve thinks should be applicable to a dog whistle, and he trips a few steps but manages to right himself just before faceplanting into the hot tub.

Pepper turns and kisses Tony on the cheek before pulling herself up onto the edge, colour high in her cheeks. She pushes her hair out of her face, and jumps, staying airborne for a second too long and landing on her feet, falling to the floor next to Darcy when her knees give out.

And everyone’s still laughing, still cheering, still yelling at Tony, who is climbing up onto the ledge.

He looks at Steve, his smile too loose; takes a breath, and jumps.

He stumbles, arms pinwheeling, and careens forwards, grabbing Steve at the last second, who is reaching for him anyway.

They crash into the floor, Steve’s back first, and then lie there, laughing so hard they can’t even speak.

Everyone lies there, except for Thor, who is the only one who has managed to stay standing, trying to get their breath back but laughing too hard to.

Pepper manages it first, coughing, “Oh, god, you’re going to get us all killed.”

“Aye,” Thor says, clutching his stomach. “But that would be quite a story to tell at your funeral.”

Steve continues to laugh, arms around Tony from catching him but not letting go yet. “Why- why is Darcy holding a  _pineapple_ ,” he wheezes.

“I don’t know,” Tony chokes back, and they’re both streaky with sweat and Steve still has a bandage where the goat bit him in the shoulder, and they’re both a complete mess and Tony’s never been more in love with anyone before this moment.

“I love you,” he says to Steve, in front of half of the Avengers and the New York skyline and everything, and he realizes that even if this ends horribly, even if this breaks both their hearts and fucks everything up, Steve’s smile right now makes it all worth it.

“Yeah,” Steve says, his eyes full of something Tony’s seen directed at him before, but never got the chance to revel in. “I noticed. You, too, by the way.”

“I love you,” Tony says again, in absolute awe of it, humming with it under his skin. “I am really, really fucking in love with you, holy shit.”

Steve says, “Language,” and then he’s kissing him, mouth open, hands cradling the back of his head, and Tony closes his eyes and doesn’t care if the high-pitched sound in his ears is the usual New York night noises, or Darcy shrieking.

-

Tony wakes up to Bruce poking his ribs. “Wakey-wakey, eggs and bakey.”

“Ow,” Tony says, rolling over. “Fuck off.”

“Language,” Steve says, and Tony wonders why the hell that sends a thrill through him, before he’s bolting up and looking around and  _yes_ , there he is, with wet hair and bare feet.

He grins before he can stop himself, and Steve stoops to kiss him. “Morning. We slept in the lounge, remember?”

“Now I do,” Tony says, easing himself into a sitting position on the couch. “What’s for breakfast?”

Steve looks over at the table, and Tony cranes his neck.

He frowns. “Is that-”

“We were never going to find out where we got it,” Darcy says, her cheeks bulging with pineapple, “so we ate it.”

She takes another bite to emphasise this, and keeps chewing.

Tony nods groggily. “Right. Pep went to work?”

“Yep,” Bruce says. “She dropped Thor off at work. She said to tell you that you’re a moron, and she’s incredibly happy for you. Also, to brush your teeth, because Steve won’t want to kiss you when you have morning breath.”

“Already kissed him,” Steve says, and bends to kiss him again. “And again. I’d prefer it without the morning breath, but I think I’ll survive.”

“You suck,” Tony says, but he’s smiling goofily, so he thinks that undermines it.

Steve’s smile is equally goofy. “I love you.”

“I love you,” Tony says back, and wonders distantly if he’s ever going to get over that.

He can’t wait to find out.


	12. Hiding From Your Problems, Ohio Style (or, natasha sparkles and tony stark have something in common)

For twelve unbelievably awkward seconds, Natasha and Clint stand in the doorway and stare wordlessly at Tony, who happens to be straddling Steve into their couch.

Slowly, Tony withdraws his hand from Steve’s jeans and waves at them.

“We leave for two weeks on our honeymoon,” Natasha says flatly, “and you two morons get together. Great timing, guys.”

“Um,” Steve says, obviously trying to tamp down on his smile and failing miserably, his blush running down his neck, “hey, guys. We didn’t expect you to be home for a while.”

Clint raises an eyebrow at them. “So your welcome-home gift was going to be having sex on our couch?”

“Surpriiiiiise,” Tony says, grinning.

“No,” Steve says, frowning at him, “we were just about to go out for dinner, and then we- got- distracted.”

“By each other’s penises,” Natasha says. “Which I sincerely hope I don’t have to see when we walk into our flat. Care to make yourselves decent?”

Steve and Tony glance at each other.

“Uh,” Tony says. “Could you close the door for a moment?”

Natasha purses her lips like she’s trying to withhold either a laugh or a sigh, but she closes the door, bags still in hand. “I blame you.”

Clint makes a face. “Me? Why the hell do you blame me?”

“You’re the one who gave them keys.”

“I didn’t think they’d try to have sex on our couch-”

“All the more reason for them to try. Guys, you decent?”

She hears a zipping sound, and then: “Yeah, come on in.”

She gives Clint a look before pushing the door back open, walking into the room and dumping the bags on the couch beside a (thankfully) fully clothed Steve and Tony.

“Sorry,” Steve says, lips kiss-swollen and still fucking  _smiling_  even though he’s trying hard not to.

Natasha pats him on the shoulder. “Because we’ve been waiting for you to get your head out of your ass ever since you met him, you’re forgiven.”

“Seconded,” Clint says, stretching, his muscles tense after spending six hours on a plane. “You guys staying for dinner, or not?”

“We were going to go out for-”

“Then let’s go,” Clint says, shoving his wallet in his pocket and then stopping, hand still inside his pocket. “Wait, you can pay, right, Tony?”

Steve starts to protest, but Tony just shrugs. “Duh.”

Clint smiles; ruffles his hair. “That’s why I love going places with you. I never have to get out my credit card. Tasha, you game?”

Natasha hums, cracking her neck. “Depends. Where are we going?”

“Tony heard about a new Indian place down Main Street,” Steve says, trying to make his hair lie flat from, predictably, where Tony had run his fingers through it.

“Sure,” Natasha says. “It’ll be a double-date. They’ll be sickening the entire three courses.”

“You guys just got back from your  _honeymoon_ ,” Tony points out.

Natasha kisses her husband on the cheek, and rubs off the lipstick. “Trust me, you guys will be worse.”

-

They are. They spend the time that they should be looking at the menu playing footsie under the table with dopey expressions, and Natasha’s going to stab one of them with a fork if they don’t stop soon.

She and Clint share a look, and Natasha’s hand starts inching towards her fork before Clint stills her wrist.

“Guys,” Clint says. “When she said ‘double date,’ she was  _joking_. If you’re going to be like this all the time, we’re all going to get diabetes.”

“Hmmm?” Steve looks up from where he and Tony have been staring at each other.

“Diabetes,” Clint repeats. “You know, because you keep being teeth-rottingly sweet. We get that you’re basking in the glow of actually being allowed to grope each other, but hold yourselves back for out benefit and the benefit of the entirety of New York.  _Please_.”

Tony snorts, reaching down to fiddle with his napkin. “You’re just jealous because the only affection Tasha ever gives you is slapping the back of your head when you get annoying.”

“I can make out with him right now if that puts your mind at rest,” Natasha says. “Now shut up and pick something.”

“Pick what?”

“Food. Off the menu that’s right in front of you.”

“Oh, right,” Steve says, picking up the menu and glancing down it.

Natasha rolls her eyes, spinning her fork in her hand.

Beside her, Clint makes a gurgling noise that she remembers from somewhere.

She looks at him, and he has his mouth half-open, his eyes wide and bugging out of his head.

She turns, follows his gaze, and-

“Fuck.”

“Down,” Clint croaks. “Get down, now.”

Steve and Tony look up, and Tony’s laugh dissolves into a swear when he sees Bucky standing in line at the till.

Steve says, “Buc-?”

“Down,” Clint says again, louder, and ducks under the table, crawling through the tablecloth that drapes down to the floor.

Tony, Steve and Natasha glance at each other, but it’s only a few seconds before they’re all on their hands and knees, crawling under the table.

“What the fuck,” Tony hisses at Clint, flicking him in the neck. “Go and yell at him!”

“Clint,” Natasha sighs, watching her husband’s wide eyes. “You may be from Ohio, but you live in New York now. We don’t shove down our feelings, we go up to them and punch people in the face with them. Bucky was friends with you and Steve in college and he screwed you both over, that’s got to-”

“Nope,” Clint cuts her off. “Noooo. He was never my friend, he was a conniving, evil girlfriend-stealer that tried to sabotage you and me for three years.”

Steve says, “Clint, we thought he was one of our best friends-”

“Emphasis on  _thought_. I am perfectly fine hiding under this table for the rest of the night, and you’d be doing the same thing if you were in my situation.”

“That’s stupid,” Steve scowls. “There’s no-one I would hide under a table from, and we can’t stay here for the next three hours-”

“Oh, really?” Clint’s voice is getting a hysterical edge to it. “Not a single person? Not even-  _Gasser_?”

Steve inhales sharply. “You agreed never to-”

“Who’s Gasser,” Tony asks, and then immediately regrets it when he sees how Steve’s face is twisted.

“The last person I’d ever want to walk through that door,” Steve admits quietly. “Dum-Dum Sasser. He’s this guy I went to high school with.”

Tony waits expectantly, and Steve squirms. “Come on, do you really want to-”

“If you don’t tell him, I will,” Clint warns.

Steve pulls his knees under the table, rearranging them so they fit. “Fine. He sat next to me in freshmen Spanish class. He had been unpopular all through middle school, but the summer before, he had grown six inches and joined the basketball team.”

“Sounds like someone I know,” Tony says, nudging Steve, and gets a pitiful smile in return.

“Mmm,” Steve says. “And I didn’t play basketball, I played football. There’s a difference.”

“They both have balls. Same thing.”

“Completely different,” Steve says. “Anyway, uh. He was on the verge of becoming one of the cool kids, when I, uh. One day in class, I- released wind.”

“...Tell me you didn’t do what I think you did.”

“It was  _ninth grade_ ,” Steve says, blush deepening. “I was- I was young, and an idiot, and I just- I blamed it on him, and this other kid said, ‘ _Sasser_ , more like  _Gasser_ ,’ and then everyone started  _chanting_  it, and I couldn’t- I couldn’t correct them. I mean, I tried, the next year, but no-one believed me. Eventually, it got so bad that he had to change schools- stop  _laughing_ , Tony!”

“I’m  _sorry_ ,” Tony chokes, covering his mouth. “It’s just- oh, god, I bet you tortured yourself over that the whole way through high school.”

“And college,” Clint says. “And if he walked in right now, Steve would stay hiding right here, under the table.  _We’re staying under the table_.”

Natasha glares at him, and, despite him grabbing at her, pokes her head up from under the table. A few seconds later, she ducks back under. “We don’t have to. He’s gone.”

A collective sigh of relief goes up, and they all climb back into their chairs, pushing them back into a comfortable position.

Clint beams. “See? All done. And that’s how we do it, Ohio-style. Problem showed up, we avoided it, it went away!”

“That’s healthy,” Steve says into his glass of water.

Clint ignores him. “Now we can enjoy our meal in peace-”

“He’s back,” Natasha hisses out the side of her mouth, staring, and Clint is the first of them to hit the floor, followed closely by the other three.

-

They stay under the table for the next hour and a half, and only come out after Natasha has checked three times that Bucky has, in fact, left.

Steve and Tony go back to their apartment- it should be poetic justice, or something, that they moved in together a few months before actually getting together.

They grin dorkily at each other the whole cab ride home, and when Natasha and Clint kick them out, Tony forgets to tip Coulson the usual obscene amount of cash.

Natasha starts to apologize as they drive away, but Coulson waves her off. “It’s fine, he’s entitled to a few weeks of stupidity over him. Hell,  _I’ve_  been waiting for those two to get together.”

Clint and Natasha laugh quietly, and Clint leans into his wife, twining their hands together.

“Sorry I was an idiot,” he says into her shoulder.

She shrugs, feeling his mouth press against the strap of her shirt. “You’re still an idiot. It’s one of the reasons I fell in love with you.”

She feels him smile, and it makes her grin without meaning to.

-

Three minutes from home, their phones vibrate at the same time- and Coulson’s, which makes them all glance at each other.

Coulson pulls over to the curb, and pulls his phone out, along with Clint and Natasha doing the same.

“Pepper,” Clint reads. “Fuck. This can’t be good.”

Natasha clicks open her message- it’s a link to a website. A news article for a magazine, one of the backstories:

**TONY STARK HAS NEW BOY-TOY? ESTRANGED BILLIONAIRE SIGHTED FOR ONE OF THE FIRST TIMES SINCE THE DEATH OF HOWARD STARK, HAND-IN-HAND WITH AN UNIDENTIFIED MAN.**

Underneath, when she scrolls down, there’s a picture of Tony and Steve, probably from a few days ago. Steve has his head tipped back, laughing, his hair being pushed over his face by the wind.

Tony is looking at him with an expression that they’ve all seen aimed at Steve too many times to count, and it’s amplified by the fact that they’re holding hands, Steve’s right and Tony’s left, pushed into Steve’s back pocket.

Natasha wets her lips. “This can’t be good.”

“He’s been sighted shitloads of times,” Clint frowns. “Why-”

“Because this is the only significant time,” Coulson says. “They don’t want photos of him picking up the milk from the dairy, they want pictures of him drinking at 3 a.m. or stealing someone’s purse. They’d definitely care about him getting a boyfriend.”

Clint shakes his head. “But you guys said the press around him has faded since he hasn’t done any media shit.”

“Faded, but not disappeared.” Coulson continues to scroll down. “They might have more interest in him if this keeps snowballing.”

“Shit,” Clint says.

Natasha nods silently.

“He could always just tell him,” Clint says. “Tell Steve he’s Tony Stark, I mean.”

She shakes her head. “He doesn’t want to. For one, Steve’s never wanted to be in that crowd. And two, Tony hates being Tony Stark like I hate being Natasha fucking Sparkles. It’s inescapable, and we’re fine with ignoring it as long as we can get away with. For the past five years, he’s just been Tony, and it’s been good for him.”

Coulson clicks his phone to silent and puts it back in his pocket. “Good or not, at some point this is going to come to a head, and Tony’s going to have to deal with it.”

Again, Natasha nods. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”


	13. The Naked Man (or, Darcy gives horrible advice)

“Hypothetically,” Steve says, not looking at Darcy, “if you wanted to casually sneak into the conversation that you wanted to sleep with someone, how would you go about it?”

Bruce starts choking on his beer, and Darcy reaches to clap him on the back.

“Uh,” she says, trying not to laugh, “Does this hypothetical person in this hypothetical situation happen to be Tony?”

“Maybe,” Steve says, and wow, he’s been blushing a lot lately.

Bruce continues to choke quietly, and starts coughing into his hand.

Darcy keeps hitting him in the back. “Hypothetically, I’d say Tony would jump at the chance, no matter how you swing it. Seriously, just go up to him, say a bad line, and he’ll be all yours.”

Steve squirms. “Yeah, but- I don’t know, I don’t want it to be a big deal. But at the same time, I want it to not be a nonevent, because it’s Tony, and he’s- well, he’s-”

“A huge slut?”

Steve gapes at her, and she grins. “What? He totally used to be, before you became the big ol’ ball and chain. Bruce, get over yourself.”

Bruce manages a strangled, “I’ll go and die somewhere else, then, so I don’t disturb you,” but manages to stop coughing, taking another sip of beer to calm his throat.

“Aaaanyway,” Darcy says, leaning towards Steve on her elbows. “You’ve had at least  _some_  experience, right?”

“Of course.”

“Ever taken it up the ass?”

“ _Darcy_ ,” Steve hisses, and this time, Bruce starts muffling his laughter with his hand.

She shrugs, toying with her bottle. “Dude, I’m helping. So, have you?”

Steve stares at the lines of glasses over the counter, his face burning. “Uh, no. But I know, y’know. How.”

“ _Yeah_ , you do,” Darcy says, taking a drag from her bottle, grinning hugely. “Ugh, I love this. It’s like my own little world of fic. Hey, Maria, another beer?”

“Nope,” Maria says, slapping her apron down on the counter. “You guys are the only ones left, and there’s a blizzard outside. Time to go home.”

Darcy makes a small sound in the back of her throat. “But this place is  _raging_ , yo!”

A few meters away, a homeless guy slides to the floor from his chair.

They all watch him, checking he’s breathing, before Maria turns back to them. “Guys, come on, I gotta get home, my mom’s waiting for her pain meds.”

“You selfish  _bastard_ ,” Darcy says. “We are very thirsty and sober individuals, and it’s only eleven.”

Bruce motions towards her. “Can’t you leave the place open a little while longer? We’ll keep an eye on everything.”

Maria wrinkles her nose. “You three? No way. You wouldn’t know the first thing about running a bar.”

“Blizzard,” Darcy says. “Barely anyone would come in. Besides, we’re all, like, ten years older than you.”

Maria looks at them through narrowed eyes. “Tell Fury, and I’ll kick your ass.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Darcy says, nodding.

Maria stares at them all for another few seconds, before sighing and reaching into her pocket. “Fine. Here’s the keys.”

She places them in Darcy’s outstretched palm. “As soon as you guys are finished your next round, you turn off the lights, and you lock up. I don’t want to come back here and find this place trashed.”

Steve blinks at her. “Wow, really?”

She looks kind of pained to say it, but: “I can trust you guys.”

-

Darcy nudges Steve as she shakes her drink. “Oh, barkeep! Triple set!”

“Coming right up,” Bruce says, tossing a bottle into the air. He catches it, twists it around his arm, throws it again and- drops it so it shatters next to his feet.

Darcy grimaces. “Oops. Steve, order up!”

She slides her glass along the counter, and Steve looks up from where he’s standing on the other side of the room.

The glass, predictably, continues to slide along the counter, and when there isn’t any counter left to slide along, it falls onto the floor and smashes.

Steve raises an eyebrow at her.

“Shut up,” Darcy tells him. “I’m a bartender, I’m awesome. Bruce, when are those hot college chicks coming?”

Steve frowns. “What college chicks?”

“Uh,” Bruce says. “The college chicks that I sort of promised to meet here tonight? And their band might come, so.”

Steve nods slowly. “Okay, but only if it’s just them. We promised Maria not to trash the place.”

“Uh-huh,” Darcy says. “Hey, Steve, come here.”

Steve flicks his phone closed, but keeps it in his hand as he walks over. “Yeah?”

Darcy puts a bottle of vodka to her lips, takes a swig, and then puts it down. She does the same to a bottle of whiskey, and shudders when she finishes. “God, I hate alcohol. Okay, you want to know how to casually ask Tony for sex?”

“Yes?”

Darcy smiles, the martinis from before obviously making it looser. “I don’t know about casual, but there’s a move a guy tried on me that worked. I’ve tried it a few times, even. It’s called The Naked Man. Or woman, depending on who uses it.”

“I’m hating the sound of it already,” Steve says, sliding into a stool, and Bruce makes an agreeing noise as he takes a glass down.

Darcy shrugs. “Fair enough. Okay, so it’s usually for those first dates where you know there isn’t going to be a second. You know the ones. They’re boring, or they’re freakishly tall, or they’re secretly a different gender- not a problem for me, but whatever floats your boat. Anyway, you go up to their apartment, make an excuse for them to leave for a bit, and you strip naked. Then, when they get back- they laugh. They’re so charmed by your confidence and bravado, they sleep with you.”

“…There is no way in hell that works.”

Darcy shakes her head. “It totally does! Two out of three times.”

“Two out of-”

“Two out of three times,” Darcy repeats. “Guaranteed. You’ve been with Tony for almost a month now, and you’ve been acting like an old married couple for years. The Naked Man is perfect for you, Steve. It breaks the ice, you don’t have to say anything, it’s convenient, because you’re already naked-”

“I’m not using The Naked Man on Tony,” Steve cuts her off. “It’s- tacky.”

Darcy smirks over the bottle she’s drinking from before putting it back down. “Tacky? Fuck yeah, it’s tacky, but it  _works_. Gives a happy ending to all bad dates.”

“Yeah, well, Tony and I aren’t a bad date.”

Bruce nods. “We noticed. You both keep zoning out because you’re thinking about each other. Your Tony-sense and his Steve-sense have been heightened. Do you know where he is right now?”

“Uh, he’s probably at our apartment-”

“The Tony-sense strikes again,” Bruce declares, and starts drinking from his glass that he’s just filled with whiskey. “I vote you try The Naked Man. Why not?”

Steve raises a hand to scratch uncomfortably at the back of his head. “I don’t know, it’s- I don’t like the idea of it. You said that they basically only sleep with you because they’re already naked, and personally, I think there’s only one reason to sleep with someone, and that’s love.”

Both Bruce and Darcy burst out laughing, and Steve pushes his chair back. “It’s the only legitimate reason to sleep together! Come on- Bruce?”

“Not getting into this one,” Bruce says, and takes a long swig, swaying a bit.

“No offense, Steve,” Darcy says, over the border of tipsy at this point, “But there’s  _lots_  of reasons to have sex.”

“Name one.”

“I can name fifty,” she says, lifting her chin, her eyes over-bright from the alcohol.  “Last week, I banged a girl who fixes the elevator because she looks slightly like Kelly Clarkson.”

Steve keeps his face impassive, but Bruce outright  _howls_ , bending over the counter with a drink dangling from his hand.

“Okay,” Steve says. “That’s one, but-”

“I’m gonna name  _fifty_ ,” Darcy interrupts, grabbing a pen and a napkin. “There’s- makeup sex. And breakup sex. Your-friend-told-you-about-a-new-position-sex.”

“Revenge,” Bruce adds, and Darcy scribbles it down. “Rebound.”

“Oooh, ooh!” Darcy waves the pen in the air, jumping up. “Nothing-good-on-TV-sex.”

“Hotel room sex,” Bruce says. “Best sex ever.”

“Curiosity sex,” Darcy says thoughtfully. “Like, I’ve always wondered what it’d be like to have sex with a drag queen. Like, a guy drag queen.”

Steve sits up, rubbing a hand over his face. “Okay, stop. This is making me depressed. I- just a second.”

He checks his phone. “Tony texted me- he just got back to the apartment.”

He looks up, and Darcy and Bruce are both looking at him.

“Naked Maaaaan,” Darcy says darkly.

“Naked Maaaaaaaaan,” Bruce says, shifting closer.

“Not on your life,” Steve says, pushing off the seat. “I’m walking home.”

“You’ll get frostbite and die. You’ll have to build an igloo-”

“I’m fine,” Steve says. “As long as I walk the whole way. It’s a 20 minute walk, at the most. I’ll see you guys tomorrow, okay?”

“NAKED MAAAAAN,” Darcy yells after him.

-

It actually takes an hour and a half to get home, and Steve is shivering by the time he shakes the snow off his jacket; his shoes are sodden.

Tony’s in the shower- he can hear the water running, the ceiling fan whirring.

He shrugs off his jacket, kicks off his shoes, his socks- and then thinks,  _I should keep going_.

It’s warm in here; the fire is crackling away six feet to the left of him, so he wouldn’t be cold if he-

_No. Don’t even. You are not sleeping with Tony because of some bad advice that Darcy gave you_.

He looks down at his bare feet, considering. Tony would be in a towel, and he’d have to go through the lounge to get to his room where his clothes are.

_Don’t. Convenience isn’t a good reason to have sex. You’ll look like an idiot_.

Then how the hell is he supposed to casually ask for sex? Are they just going to play chicken until one of them finally gives in and leaps on them?

They’ve made out dozens of times, said they’d ‘see where it goes,’ but one of them always pulls back before clothing starts coming off below the waist.

And they’re both scared of screwing this up- Tony by moving too fast, Steve by being horrible at it and- and-

_Screw it_ , he thinks, and lifts his shirt over his head. Then his singlet, and his jeans, his boxers, and then he’s standing naked in the middle of the lounge, feeling like a complete and total moron.

_What do I do now, wait naked for Tony to get out of the shower_?

He shuffles through his jeans pocket, taking out his cell-phone and hitting speed dial number 5.

“Steeeeve,” she whispers when she picks up. “I’m doing The Naked Woman to one of Bruce’s college chicks. Are you proud?”

“Sure,” Steve says. “I’m, uh, doing it, too.”

Darcy manages to whoop quietly, which Steve hasn’t heard anyone do before. “Congrats on not being a pussy! Okay, big question: what pose will you display your Naked Man in?”

“Um,” Steve says. “I thought I’d just stand here.”

Darcy groans. “No, you can’t just- look, I have boobs, and you have a dick. We both have different things to work with, so we have to improvise. There’s so many poses you can do- oooh, how about the ‘oops, I didn’t see you there?’”

“Darcy, I can’t see what you’re doing over the phone.”

“If you did, you’d be blushing so hard your face would melt off. What about the Burt Reynolds?”

“Darcy,  _I can’t see what you’re doing over the phone_.”

“The Olympic gymnast who stuck the landing.”

“Dar-”

“Yeah, yeah, got it.” There’s a rustling sound on her end, and she swears. “Fuck. Gotta go.”

Steve looks at the bathroom door as he hears the water turn off. “Yeah, me, too. Good luck.”

“Naked Man,” Darcy says, and hangs up.

-

Tony hears a sound from the lounge, and he smiles as he towels his hair. “Is that you, or a friendly burglar?”

“It’s me,” Steve calls, and his voice sounds- weird. Nervous?

He takes a swig of mouthwash, and spits it into the sink. He’s been very uppity about dental hygiene ever since he and Steve got together. “Did you get frostbite and die?”

A laugh, and it’s looser than he sounded before. “No, I didn’t. Did you have a good meeting?”

“Nah, it sucked.” Tony gives his hair one last run through with his towel before wrapping it around his waist, tucking it in and holding it up with one hand as he moves for the door. “How were the guys? Bruce sa-”

His brain proceeds to drain out his ears, and he skids to a stop, hand clutching absently at the doorknob.

“It was Darcy’s idea,” Steve says, his blush going all the way down to his chest and holy  _shit_.

Distantly, Tony makes a note to send Darcy a fruit basket.

“Kudos for Darcy,” he manages, his voice high-pitched and embarrassing and making him want to shove a fist in his mouth to shut himself up. “So, I take it you had a good night.”

“It was fine,” Steve nods. “Uh. Are you okay?”

“Yep,” Tony squeaks, his brain on overdrive, whirring from the dip of Steve’s hipbones, the ‘v’ trailing down his stomach, the long, stripped scar along his side, and he realizes he’s been holding his breath when he starts to get lightheaded. “Totally okay. Okay to the max. I’m so okay that I’m- heading to okayville. On the okay bus. I’m not making any sense, am I?”

“No,” Steve says, and there’s a start of a smile on his lips. “Are you babbling in a good way, or a bad way?”

“Good way,” Tony says. “Good way, definitely a good way, you’re, um. Uh. Did Darcy tell you to pull The Naked Man on me?”

The blush, if possible, deepens, and Tony chokes on his tongue a bit.

“Yes. It was- she was going on about how many reasons there were to have- sleep together, I mean. And she kept listing them, and texting them to me as I was walking home, but I still only considered one of them.”

“Yeah? Which one?”

“Mine,” Steve says, stepping forwards, and Tony leans forwards automatically. “Love.”

Tony nods fervently. “That works. That totally works. Absotivleyposo _lutely_.” He wets his lips absentmindedly. “Y’know, you could’ve just asked.”

“Asked what?”

“For sex.”

“I know,” Steve says, still blushing, and Tony wants to run his mouth down every inch of it. “I- I didn’t really know how.”

“So you strip naked and stand in the lounge?”

“Yes,” Steve says, after a moment of thinking it over.

Tony laughs. “I love you.”

Steve’s smile goes sort of lopsided, but then it’s up again at a million miles an hour. “I love you, Tony.”

Through the haze of Steve kissing him, of murmured ‘I love you’-s into his mouth, of so much of Steve’s skin under his hands, Tony decides that no, he’s never getting used to this.


	14. Everyone Hates Paparazzi (or, Darcy gets lonely, too)

“Were you watching me sleep?”

Tony startles, almost dropping his tablet. “What? No.”

Steve smiles into the pillow, leaning up to prop himself on his elbows. “Yeah? What were you doing, then?”

Tony gestures at the tablet. “Equation stuff. Math-y… things.”

“About what?”

Tony falls silent for a few seconds, and clears his throat. “I, uh. The light/dark ratio of your hair in the mornings.”

Steve feels unusually pleased about that. “Is that the Tony version of a love letter?”

“No.”

“For some reason, I don’t believe you.” Steve grins, sitting up to kiss Tony on the forehead. “Has Darcy put up the winter wonderland yet?”

Tony minimizes the things he has on his tablet, and reaches for his phone. “Yep. According to her, Natasha is a frigid bitch who doesn’t like tinsel on her mantle. Who knew?”

He drops the phone onto the sheets between his legs. “So, are you, uh.”

“I’m staying here,” Steve says, and smirks at the look that Tony gives him. “That was you trying to casually ask me if I was going to my cousin’s for Christmas, right? I’m not. I’m spending it with my other family this year.”

Tony continues to look at him, but there’s a tinge of red creeping up his neck. “Oh. That’s- nice?”

“That means you guys, you moron.” Steve watches the relief on Tony’s face, and the hasty rearrangement of his features as he tries to hide it. Steve laughs, and kisses him on the forehead again. “What, are you actually looking forward to it this year?”

Tony shrugs, leaning into him, his head crooked into Steve’s neck. “I’ve had a few good ones over the past few years. Maybe I’m not dreading this one as much.  _Maybe_.”

“Fair enough.” Steve glances at the clock- they have two hours to get to Natasha and Clint’s. “Well, I’m definitely looking forward to it. This is our first Christmas as a couple, and I’m going to make the most of it.”

Tony snorts, but doesn’t pull away. Instead, he links their hands together. “Seriously? We’ve had, like, five Christmases together already. Are you going to be that guy that bases all their experiences on their couplehood? Oooh, first birthday as a couple. First 4th of July as a couple. First tuna sandwich as a couple, so you can bet your ass it’s going to be a  _special_  sandwich-”

Steve hits him in the face with a pillow, and Tony yelps.

-

Halfway up the stairs, they run into Clint, who is taking tiny steps up each stair.

Steve opens his mouth to ask what the hell he’s doing, but then notices the huge glass of beer he’s carrying. “What did you do?”

Clint keeps his eyes trained on the beer, one hand flat over the top. “I might have accidentally called Darcy a bad word.”

“You guys fight all the ti-”

“Yeah, but it was- never mind.” Clint takes another baby step up the stairs, wincing as a tiny drop spills down the side, through his fingers.

Bruce raises his eyebrows at the beer. “So you decided to drown your sorrows up in the apartment rather than SHIELD?”

“Nah,” Tony says. “In college, whenever one of them got pissed at the other one, they’d show up at their place with a glass of beer. It was why Tasha thought Darcy and Clint were dating- apparently, it’s ‘romantic.’”

Clint flips him off with the hand holding the beer, one finger curling upwards. “Fuck you, it’s totally romantic, and we  _were_  dating. For, like, a week. You and Steveykins should start-”

“Recovering alcoholic, Clint,” Tony says flatly.

“Show up at his place with shwarma, then,” Clint says tiredly, and makes it up to the top stair, only spilling a few drops as he does.

Bruce says, “They live in the same-”

“Yeah, yeah.” Clint jerks his head at Steve, motioning for him to open the door to his apartment. “Shut up. Anyway, things got a little heated, and I stormed off. Tasha’s buying some last-minute presents, and she-”

They all fall silent as they take in the apartment- stripped bare of decorations, not a tree or stocking in sight.

Steve purses his lips. “Clint, we hate you.”

Clint blinks at the apartment, taking a step in, and looks down at the beer. He takes his hand off of it, wipes it on his shirt, and starts chugging.

Bruce claps him on the shoulder as he does. “Thank you, that’s helpful.”

Clint grunts something into the beer before swallowing the last bit and coming up for air, smacking the glass down on the bench. “That  _Grinch_.”

Steve supresses a sigh, and reaches into Clint’s front pocket. He ignores the look Clint gives him, and Tony saying, “uh, wrong one, I’m over here,” and shoves Clint’s phone into his hand.

“ _Call_  her,” he says, folding his arms.

Clint sticks his tongue out at him, but then pushes ‘5’ on speed dial, and puts the phone to his ear. It rings three times, and then Darcy’s voice is in his ear. “Merry Christmas, assface.”

“Darcy, where are the Christmas decorations?”

“At my apartment,” Darcy says, and Clint can hear tinsel rustling in the background.

He grits his teeth. “Hey, here’s a crazy thought- how about you bring them back so we can celebrate Christmas together? Please?”

“Clint,” Darcy says, and Clint’s heart plummets, because  _fuck_ , he knows that voice. “Do you know what I would do if one of my first graders-”

“They’re Natasha’s first graders, you’re her assistant, you don’t do anything except drink coffee and provide the kids with things to talk to their therapist about when they’re older-”

“-used that kind of language? I would be on the phone with their parents!”

Clint rubs a hand over his face, cursing her very existence and the moment he had met her via accidentally tripping over her at a frat party when she was passed out, half in a bathtub and half draped out over the tiles. “Yeah, I’m not a first grader.”

“Exactly! You know what that word means! You know that calling people names is mean and hurtful. Assface.”

Clint’s lips thin. “Darcy, if you don’t bring that crap back  _right now_ , I’ll-”

He’s suddenly speaking to a dial tone, and he closes his phone with a yell of range.

Everyone’s still staring at him, and he shrugs. “She’s just mad. We do this all the time. She’ll cool off.”

“Suuure,” Tony says, one eyebrow cocked.

Clint’s phone starts vibrating in his hand, chiming out the first notes of ‘Hot Blooded,’ and he smiles triumphantly. “Aha! See?”

He flips it open, puts it to his ear.

“Don’t forget to get the cookies out of the oven,” Darcy hisses. “Assface.”

And then there’s dial tone. Again.

-

They spend another hour sitting around the apartment, with Clint freaking out and Steve telling him to calm down and Bruce and Tony doing ‘science’ on their tablets.

Tony has a sneezing fit at one point, and Steve flashes back to  _last_  Christmas. (“You’re not having ice cream for dinner just because you’re sick, Tony.” “But my  _throat_  hurts-” “No!” “I HATE you- no, don’t leave me.”)

Finally, Darcy starts answering her phone again. “I’m not forgiving you.”

“It’s me,” Steve says. “Darcy, come on, everyone’s coming over in two hours. Even Coulson! You like Coulson!”

“Everyone likes Coulson,” Darcy says. “Unfortunately, he’ll have to spend Christmas in a boring, pale, decoration-less hell, because Clint’s an asshole.”

Steve pauses to glare at Clint, who throws up his hands. “We know. But he’s your friend, remember? Can you please just come back, and we can-”

“Only if he apologizes.”

“He tried to apologize! He showed up at the apartment with a glass of beer, and- and I  _know_  you, Darcy, you’ll blow up and then get over it in five minutes. Whatever you fought about, it wasn’t important. But it’s bigger than that, isn’t it?”

There’s a pause on the other end, and he can hear some crappy Christmas carol playing in the background.

Steve sighs. “Darcy, what’s wrong?”

Her voice drops slightly, and he can just  _see_  her rolling her eyes. “Nothing. It’s stupid. You’re stupid. Clint’s stupid. Tony and Natasha are stupid, and Pepper and Happy are stupid, and Jane and Thor are stupid, and all of my friends are getting together, and I don’t have anyone, and you’re all going to be moving on and doing shit, and I’ll be stuck here without you and it’s  _stupid_ , okay?”

There’s a breath, like a rush of static, and Steve imagines the bad wiring in her apartment, how she moved out of Clint and Natasha’s apartment when they got together, and then out of Thor and Jane’s apartment when  _they_  got together, and the faraway, lost look in her eyes when she looks at Steve and Tony, sometimes.

Steve swallows. “Darcy, we’re not going to leave you. You know that, right?”

“It’s stupid,” Darcy mutters, and sniffs heavily. “I’m being a bitch.”

“No, you’re not. You’re being unreasonable, but people are allowed to do that sometimes.”

Darcy snorts. “You’re dating  _Tony_. You have to put up with all the bitchiness in the world, jam-packed into expensive suits and great hair. You’re used to it.”

Steve’s mouth flickers upwards as he looks sideways at Tony, where he’s arguing with Bruce, shoving his tablet at him. “That’s a possibility. Just- Darcy, stay there, all right?”

“What are you-”

“Stay,” Steve repeats, and flips the phone closed.

He pushes Clint’s phone back into his hand. “Call everyone, tell them to go to Darcy’s.”

Clint scrunches up his nose. “Dude, her apartment’s, like, four inches across.”

“We’ll fit,” Steve says. “She has a balcony, anyway.”

“Which is coincidentally about as big as the rest of the place-”

“Go,” Steve says, and it’s only when the others start to get up that he realizes that Darcy hadn’t included Bruce’s name on that list.

-

They have to part ways when they get to the subway- Tony and Clint have to go and get Natasha, who is lugging a foosball table around the streets of New York, and Bruce and Steve have to go and get Coulson, whose phone is turned off.

“So,” Steve says, as they try to avoid getting stepped on as they cross the street. “Darcy.”

Bruce glances at him, but then has to look back in front of him so he doesn’t bump into someone. “What about her?”

“She’s- great,” Steve says lamely.

Bruce looks at him again, realization making his mouth quirk up. “Uh. Yes, Steve, she is. I’m going to take a well-educated guess and say this isn’t just a random observation?”

Steve shrugs, pocketing his hands and hunching down in his jacket, trying to get the snow out of his eyelashes. “I’m just saying, it’s got to be lonely since you got your own apartment.”

“I guess.” Bruce scuffs his shoes along the snow, which is already dirt-coloured mush on the concrete, due to everyone walking over it. “Are you suggesting something, Captain?”

Steve smiles at the nickname- they call each other by their superhero names more often now, and Steve always thinks back to the drawings he has at home, in the top drawer. “Not at all. Just noting that you two would work well together.”

Bruce huffs slightly, and it comes out in a pillar of white from his mouth. “She’s- I doubt she’d have a guy like me.”

Again, Steve shrugs. He bumps his shoulder into Bruce’s, making him catch his eye. “I think you should reconsider that hypothesis, Doctor Banner.”

Bruce rolls his eyes, opens his mouth to say something- and then stops, frowning at something a few feet ahead.

Steve stops with him, looking back. “What?”

“Uh,” Bruce says. “We should-”

There’s a flash, and Steve blinks, hard.

“Go,” Bruce finishes, tugging at Steve’s shoulder.

Steve says, “What was-”

There’s another flash, just as bright as the first, and Steve’s eyes start to water.

He forces them open, and there’s a man pushing his way through the crowd, camera in hand. “Mr. Rogers, can you comment on-”

He hears Bruce mutter, “fuck,” and then, louder: “No, he can’t, we were just leaving,” and pulling Steve more urgently, so he starts walking away.

Steve looks back over his shoulder, and the guy is still shoving through the crowd, clicking desperately at his camera. “Mr. Banner, can you define the relationship of Mr. Stark and-”

“Who’s Mr. Stark,” Steve says, and Bruce presses his lips together so hard they turn white.

“He can’t comment on anything,” Bruce says, walking faster, pulling a very confused Steve along behind him.

Steve says, “Wait, what is he talking about, why are we-”

“Mr. Rogers,” the guy yells, as the crowd starts to thicken, making it harder to push through. “Can you confirm or deny your relationship with Tony Stark, and the seriousness of the-”

Steve says, “What-”

Bruce is practically tripping over himself dragging Steve out of the way. “Come  _on_.”

Steve finally gets into gear and starts through the crowd, Bruce at his side, until the guy’s voice is long gone and they’re both panting.

Steve shakes ice from his boot. “We’re going to have to get Thor to get Coulson.”

“Yeah,” Bruce says, out of breath. “So, that was, uh.”

“Paparazzi,” Steve says. “A paparazzi who knew my name. And  _Tony’s_  name, apparently, which- which-”

He falters, the name  _Stark_  making something click in his brain, something about Howard Stark, the world’s biggest weapon’s manufacturer, the one who died the month Tony came to New York, the one who Tony always switches away from when there’s something on TV about him.

“Tony  _Stark_ ,” Steve says. “He’s- he’s a weapons manufacturer?”

“Officially, no,” Bruce says, squaring his shoulders. “He quit. Or retired, I guess. He’s still making phones and stuff, and he has his inheritance, but he quit the weapons business.”

Steve nods slowly. “I. Okay. Um. Why didn’t he just- tell us?”

Bruce lets his shoulders drop in a small shrug. “I’m pretty sure everyone knows except for you and Thor. Maybe Darcy.”

Steve continues to nod, not really knowing how to stop. “Okay. Right. Okay. So, everyone knows.”

Bruce nods, looking halfway between kicked puppy and determined friend.

Steve finally manages to stop nodding. “Okay. So, Tony’s famous?”

“Semi-famous. He’s… well-known? The fame has sort of died down since he moved here.”

“Guess that answers where all that money was coming from.” Steve laughs, a short bark at the back of his throat. “So, he didn’t want to tell me?”

This time when Bruce shrugs, it’s jerky. “He- wanted to. He just didn’t want to be Tony Stark for a while, and then you guys showed up, and it was- he didn’t have people to rely on, back home. Back there, I mean. And he wanted people that didn’t care that he was Tony Stark, and the only way he saw that happening was not telling them.”

He wets his lips nervously. “He didn’t- he wasn’t- He wanted to leave all of that bullshit behind, and I let him. He was fucking miserable, Steve. Pep couldn’t get him out, and I sure as hell couldn’t. Then- look, I’ll let him tell you himself, okay?”

Again, Steve nods.

Bruce hesitates, but then he’s walking again, motioning at Steve to follow. “I’ll, uh. I’ll ring Thor.”

“Yeah,” Steve says, at a loss of what the hell else he  _can_  say, and falls into step with Bruce.

Bruce calls Thor, and for a while after, they walk in silence.

Finally, when they’re climbing the steps to Darcy’s apartment, Bruce turns to him.

“Okay, so I know Tony isn’t the easiest person to live with-”

“I already don’t like where this is going.”

“He loves you,” Bruce says, rushes. “He loves you, and you love him, and it’s so sickeningly obvious, it was even before you got together. And predictably, he’s going to freak out when you bring this up later. Just- just don’t-”

He lets the breath out of him in one huge motion. “Don’t let him run away.”

Steve thinks back to all the times Tony has tried- how he had pulled back, pushed away, smiled when he didn’t mean it and kept doing it.

He thinks of having to literally drag Tony out of bed some mornings, brewing coffee and pushing it into Tony’s hand as he moans and cringes away from the light through the curtains.

He thinks of the first time Tony had laughed- really, genuinely laughed, so hard he had slipped, banged his head on the table and got a concussion. Of Tony, and Iron Man: pretending to be heartless when the proof shines through without meaning to.

“I won’t,” he says, and means it.

-

Later, Darcy is curled up on the couch with Clint and Bruce, her feet on Clint’s lap and her head in Bruce’s, and Bruce is absently stroking her hair, trailing his fingers through it.

Coulson, Thor, Pepper and Natasha are having a drinking contest using eggcups instead of shot glasses, and Thor is swaying, which is never a good sign, because the amount of alcohol it takes to get him drunk is, on average, the same amount of alcohol is takes to get a normal person’s stomach pumped.

The Christmas decorations are folding over into themselves in the small, cramped apartment, and Steve thinks he can feel a branch poking into his hip.

Tony is sitting between his legs, his back pressed up against Steve’s chest, and his head is resting under Steve’s chin. Their hands are linked, Tony reaching up and Steve reaching down.

Steve watches the clock click towards midnight and therefore Christmas, and suddenly can’t think of any other way he’d rather spend Christmas Eve.

“So,” Steve says, and Tony tilts his head upwards.

Steve’s breath catches for a second at the decorations throwing light across his face, his thin fingers along Steve’s knuckles. His stubble grates softly on Steve’s wrist when he reaches up to touch his cheek.

“Uh,” Steve says, not dropping his hand from where it’s stroking a rhythm on Tony’s cheekbone. “Sorry. Distracted.”

Tony laughs quietly, his lips curving up in a pleased smile that Steve’s come to associate with him. “It happens.”

Steve hums, watching the light play with Tony’s hair and listening to Darcy snore softly and Natasha slap her eggcup down and feeling so, so unbelievably thankful for his rag-tag group of Avengers.

“So,” Steve says again. “Tony Stark, huh?”

He feels him go stiff in his arms, start to pull away, but Steve drops his hands and wraps his arms around him, yanking him in. “Nope, you’re not getting away. We can talk about it later, I just wanted you to know I know, and that I don’t care.”

Tony hesitates, still rigid. He swallows. “Uh. Okay.”

“Mmm.” Steve slides down so his chin is angled against Tony’s shoulder. “I was mad that you didn’t tell me, but I got over it.”

“When did you find out?”

“About three hours ago.”

Tony makes a choking sound, and Steve nudges him. “I got over it fast.”

“How the hell can you-”

“Because I love you. You know that.”

The look in Tony’s eyes when he shifts to stare at him is almost too much to handle, and Steve says, “Tony, I don’t care about your past, and I don’t know what happened, but I’m glad it made you end up here with us. We won’t leave, no matter how much you push.”

Tony says, “Steve-”

“Later,” Steve says, pressing a kiss just above his ear, and then another one into his hair. “We can talk about it later, okay? Right now, we have- this, and I don’t want to ruin it.”

He smiles into Tony’s hair. “Right now, we have tacky Christmas lights. We have Natasha’s cookies, and a tree, and our family. We’ll have to deal with things later, but for now, we have crappy heating and mistletoe, and honestly, that’s enough.”

Tony is silent for a second before he starts to laugh, quietly at first, but then getting loud enough that Coulson glances over at them. “Fucking hell, Steve, what rom-com do you think we’re in? Jesus  _Christ_. Just- fuck, come here.”

Steve grins, letting Tony manoeuvre him so their chests are pushing together, Tony’s hands in his hair.

“It’s enough,” Steve repeats, kissing Tony’s neck, his nose, the space under his chin. “You’re more than enough.”

Tony tries to say it back, but it gets stuck in his throat. He tries to say  _I love you_ , which shouldn’t be a big deal, because it’s obvious and they’ve both said it a million times before, but he can’t.

Instead, he links their hands together again and kisses him, soft and desperate, and Steve hears him, loud and clear.


	15. Close Enough To Happily Ever After (or, Darcy's gingerbread houses are too beautiful to live)

When Clint arrives at their booth, he’s out of breath and panting too hard to speak.

He looks at everyone, tries to say something, but it comes out in a gush of air. He leans heavily against the table, wheezes for about ten seconds while everyone exchanges glances, and then tries again.

“Rob- Robert Downey Junior.”

Tony blinks. “No, I’m Tony. But I can understand how you can get confused. Apparently I look like a younger, hotter version of him.”

Steve tilts his head, considering. “I don’t see it.”

Clint flips Tony off, and takes a deep breath. “No. Thor is at a restaurant. He just texted me that Robert Downey Junior is a few tables away from him. He wants us to, and I quote, ‘come and see the glorious man of light and eye-crinkles.’”

They all make non-committal noises into their drinks, except for Natasha, who looks around the table with raised eyebrows.

“Come  _on_ ,” Clint wheezes. “Tasha hasn’t seen him before, we should at least-”

“You haven’t seen Robert Downey Junior?” Darcy snorts, picking at her nails. “Dude,  _everyone’s_  seen Robert Downey Junior. I’ve seen him, like, every month for the past eight years. We’re on a first name basis now.”

Natasha shrugs. “I haven’t seen him.”

Clint pats her condescendingly on the hand, ignoring the icy look she gives him. “Tasha, I’m sorry, but you’re not a real New Yorker until you’ve seen Robert Downey Junior.”

“I’ve been here for six years, Clint, it’s not like I just got off a boat.”

“Of course, Natasha Sparkles.”

Her hand goes for a fork, and Steve grabs her wrist.

Clint nods towards him, not looking away from Natasha. “ _Thank_  you.”

“I don’t think that makes you a real New Yorker,” Bruce says. “I’ve been here on and off for my whole life, and that’s definitely not one of the factors. You’re not a real New Yorker until you’ve stolen a cab from someone who needs it more than you do.”

Darcy makes a noise into her drink, and then swallows. “No, no, no, you’re not a real New Yorker until you’ve punched a complete stranger in the face for doing something only slightly offensive.”

“Those both seem like things I would do,” Natasha deadpans.

Bruce looks at her. “Also, you’re not a real New Yorker until you’ve killed a cockroach with your bare hands.”

“Also something I would do.”

Steve shrugs. “I haven’t done any of those things, and I’ve been here for six years now. I think we should go see him.”

Bruce hums, picking at the shell of the peanut he’s holding. “I don’t know. We try to respect RDJ’s space, he probably-”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Darcy groans, shoving him. “Don’t be one of those douchebags who calls him RDJ. If you’re typing it, then fine. Just don’t  _say_  it.”

“It’s his initials! His name is long-”

“If we get in a cab, we can be there in 15 minutes,” Natasha cuts them off, pushing her sleeve up to check her watch.

Darcy snorts again, sipping her drink for emphasis. “A  _real_  New Yorker would know the subway’s faster.”

“Nope,” Tony says, scrolling down his phone. “The bus is faster on weekends. We’d get there ten minutes earlier than the subway.”

Darcy makes a face. “Ew, seriously? A  _bus_? Buses are all sticky, and full of shithead children.”

“This, coming from a teacher’s assistant.”

“Shut it, Widow.”

“Besides,” Bruce says, picking absently at the edge of the table. “I can  _run_  faster than the bus. Do you know how slow they go? Old people in walkers pass them.”

“Dude,” Darcy repeats. “That’s, like, seven miles. You can’t run  _seven miles_.”

“I can,” Bruce says, “And I’d get there before all of you.”

Natasha rolls her eyes. “Sure. You’re all wrong, anyway. I’ve got a way I can beat all of you to it.”

“Yeah? How?”

Natasha taps her nose knowingly.

Tony sighs. “Whatever, I know this city better than any of you, I could still get there faster. Especially if Bruce  _runs_.”

“Excuse me, I could get there before-”

“Come on, you can’t outrun-”

“Hey!” Steve slots his hand between the two of them. “Breathe! We’re not going to see him, and there’s no way to find out who’s right, anyway.”

Everyone falls silent, and Steve suddenly regrets his choice of words.

There’s a flurry of movement as they all shove themselves up from the table and make for the door, Darcy running outside before all of them and whooping as she does.

“First one to RDJ wins,” Bruce yells, and ignores Darcy’s glare that she gives him for calling him that. “Doesn’t matter how you get there, except Tony’s not allowed to rent a helicopter.”

“Fuck,” Tony says, but keeps running, yanking Steve along behind him.

-

Tony all but dives into the train, landing on his stomach, skidding into a pole, and lying there for a second, swearing.

Steve walks in after him, and bends to help him up. “That was dumb.”

“You’re dumb,” Tony shoots back, wincing as Steve hauls him to his feet. “I thought it was going to leave.”

Steve tugs him towards the empty seats, biting back a smile when Tony starts to whine loudly about his arm hurting.

“That was probably when you hit the pole,” Steve says, nodding towards it and sitting down beside him, probably too close.

Tony rolls his shoulders, flexing his fingers. “Whatever. Hey, do you still have that nail polish?”

“You’re not painting your nails on the subway, Tony.”

“Why? They see weirder shit every day, it’s-”

“No, I mean you’ll spill it all over yourself.”

Tony scrunches his nose. “Then I’ll put it away when we start to leave. Come oooon, Steve, I left my tablet back at SHIELD and I’m  _bored_. You remember what happened the last time we were on a train and I got bored.”

Steve had had to apologize to everyone on the train. A month later, a woman had recognized him and had run up to him and started hitting him with her handbag until Thor dragged her off of him.

Tony still starts randomly giggling about it sometimes.

“Yes,” Steve says darkly. “Thank you for reminding me.”

Tony makes a grabbing motion with his hand, and Steve sighs. He reaches into the pocket of his jersey, and places some red nail polish in Tony’s palm.

Tony grins, and kisses him quickly on the cheek. “Thank you, kind boyfriend.”

“You’re welcome, idiot boyfriend.”

“That’s rude and hurtful,” Tony says, only half paying attention due to carefully stroking the brush over the nail of his index finger.

Steve watches with his head pressed against the window as Tony finishes his first hand, with minimal smearing. He holds the nail polish and the brush in his free hand, and starts to blow on his coloured nails.

“You’re scarily good at that,” Steve says. “I always get it everywhere.”

“Practice,” Tony says, glancing at him before going back to blowing on his nails. “And I have steady hands. I thought you’d be better at it, because of the artist thing.”

“The  _drawing_  thing,” Steve corrects him. “I can’t paint to save my life. My paintings look like deformed potatoes.”

Tony shrugs. “Whatever. Hey, uh, also. Is it later yet?”

Steve opens his mouth to say  _what_  before it clicks. “It’s- yes, I guess it’s later.”

“Good,” Tony says, still looking closely at his nails. “Thought we should get it over with. The talking thing. About the other thing.”

Steve shifts closer, frowning. “You want… to talk about things?”

“Don’t look so surprised,” Tony says to his nails, and Steve doesn’t know how he can know that, because he’s not looking at him. “I just thought, y’know. The sooner the better.”

Steve nods, and Tony nods, and they both nod awkwardly as neither of them say anything.

Tony is almost halfway through doing his other hand when he says, “I think this is where you say something.”

“How about you go first?”

“Okaaaay,” Tony says, drawing it out and starting on his pinkie finger. “Uh. I’m sorry for lying- well, not  _lying_ , just not telling you everything- about by identity. Casually stretching the truth. Little white lies. Or something. And, uh, I love you?”

He clears his throat, rubbing a streak of nail polish from his skin. “Wow, we suck at this. Your turn.”

“Um. I don’t really have anything to say?”

Tony finally looks up at him, his hand stilling. “ _Seriously_? Your boyfriend turns out to be internationally famous and you don’t have anything to say?”

Steve doesn’t know any other way to tell him he doesn’t care that he hasn’t said already said, and Tony looks surprisingly vulnerable under the bad lighting that the train has, and Steve falls a little bit more in love with him every time his hair curls like it’s doing right now.

So he shrugs again. “I don’t know, you’re- I’ve always just known you as Tony. That’s the guy I became best friends with, it’s the guy I fell in love with. It’s the guy who stays up until two in the morning watching reruns of ‘Friends,’ and buys everything for all of us, and paints his nails on a train. You’re still… just Tony. I don’t care what your last name is.”

And Tony is staring at him, his nails drying as he’s not paying attention, and he has this  _look_ , like-

“You’re an irritatingly good person, also possibly a cyborg, because no-one can be that fucking perfect, and I’m embarrassingly in love with you, you asshole.”

Steve laughs, and Tony reaches for him before remembering  _fuck, nail polish_ , and instead just leaning in and kissing him.

He looks like kind of an idiot, kissing him with his hands held out at head-level, and Steve smiles through the kiss. He leans back after a few seconds, kissing him quickly a few more times before letting his head rest back on the window.

Tony hums. “I think I’ve already pointed this out, but our lives are basically the plot of a shitty rom-com.”

“Sitcom,” Steve says. “The Avengers, remember?”

Tony nods into his neck. “We should have a reality show.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“No, Tony.”

“Spoilsport,” Tony mutters, but Steve can feel him smiling.

He starts to crook his head so it’s resting on top of Tony’s, when he hears a  _click_.

Tony bolts up, hands still dangling, and Steve looks around.

 _Click. Click. Click_.

“Hey,” Tony calls. “Mind stopping that?”

The woman glances up; shakes her head. “Sorry, sir, it’s my job. Would you mind if I asked you a few questions about why you stopped producing weap-”

“No, I wouldn’t,” Tony says, and Steve watches something close off in his face.

The woman takes another picture. “Then how about the ensuing relationship with this-”

“Double no,” Tony says, standing up and dragging Steve up with him. “What paper do you work for?”

“I don’t have to answer that.”

“You don’t,” Tony admits, “but I can always hack your phone and delete those photos you just took.”

The woman’s pencilled eyebrows raise. “Mr. Stark, you’ve barely had any press since-”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Tony waves a hand, and the woman’s eyebrows get even higher up her forehead when she sees the drying nail polish.

Tony leers. “What, a guy’s not allowed to pamper himself every now and then? See you, Skeeter.”

“My name isn’t-”

“It was a Harry Potter reference, you ignoramus,” Tony says, and Steve takes his sleeve, seeing the smears of nail polish on Tony’s jeans where he’s been digging his fingers into them.

Tony looks at him, and curls his hand around Steve’s wrist so he doesn’t get any red on him. “Be glad you look pretty today, those photos are going to be everywhere in half an hour.”

“I always look pretty,” Steve says as they get off the train, trying to lighten the mood.

It sort of works- Tony smiles, even though it’s small. “I know you do. Sorry about her.”

Steve squeezes his hand. “I guess I’m going to have to get used to Skeeter-like reporters trying to pry into our private life.”

Tony makes a face, but nods. “Yeah. You may or may not have gotten the press interested in me again.”

“Sorry.”

“Not your fault. Everyone’s just surprised to see me hold down a relationship for more than a week. Yay me!”

“Yay you, London Tipton,” Steve says before he can stop himself, accidentally letting slip evidence of that time Thor got him to sit down and watch four seasons of ‘The Suite Life of Zach and Cody.’

Also ‘Kim Possible,’ but that’s another story.

The train’s doors close, and Steve and Tony both watch it start to shift forwards when they realize in unison why they were even  _on_  the train.

“Shit,” Steve says.

-

Tony pays Coulson $500 to kick Darcy out of the cab and pick them up instead, and Darcy chases them three blocks before throwing herself onto the hood of a different cab.

They pass Bruce, who is currently peddling the fuck out of a bike that neither of them have seen before.

Tony makes Coulson pull up beside him, still driving. “Hey, Brucie. Where’d you get the bike?”

Bruce looks down. “I may have paid a kid 20 bucks and a lighter to let me borrow it.”

“I’m so proud,” Tony says, and rolls up the window. “Coulson, punch it.”

Coulson glances in the rear-view mirror. “Clint’s up ahead.”

“Run him over.”

“Running him over.”

Steve shoots Tony a look. “Don’t run him over, Coulson.”

“Not running him over.”

Tony pokes his tongue out at Steve, and then starts hitting Coulson’s shoulder. “Pull over, pull over-”

“Pulling over,” Coulson says, twisting the steering wheel so they slide into a parking space, and Tony yanks open the door.

Steve stumbles out after him and they run, Bruce a few feet behind him and pushing off of his bike, Clint a few steps ahead and panting like he’s dying, Darcy screaming obscenities as she gets out of a cab a few cars away.

They run, Darcy catching up, Clint falling behind, and Steve grabs Tony’s hand and doesn’t care about the half-dried nail polish that flecks off onto his wrist.

Then- then-

Then Natasha’s pushing the doors of an ambulance open a few feet ahead of all of them, ignoring the paramedic that’s yelling at her, and starts towards a very confused Thor at full pelt.

She rams into Thor, almost knocking him backwards, and peels herself away from him with a grin.

“I win, fuckers,” she announces to the rest of them, and then cranes her neck to see over them.

Clint is a few meters away, lying on the sidewalk and breathing raggedly.

“Walk it off,” she yells, and Clint lifts a hand to pull the finger at her.

She rolls her eyes, claps Thor on the back, and goes over to drag her husband to his feet.

“I hate all of you,” Darcy says, leaning heavily on Bruce, who is dripping sweat onto his feet. “I really, really despise and loathe every single one of you to the depths of your black, black souls.”

Steve kisses her on the head, and she shoves him away, scowling.

Natasha returns, Clint’s arm draped over her shoulder. “Oh, quit being such a baby.”

“Dying,” Clint moans. “I’m dead. I’m dead. Everyone mourn me.”

“Methinks I have missed something,” Thor says. “I apologize, my friends. The great Robert Downey Junior already left, but never fear! I took many photos.”

“Next time,” Tony pants, “Don’t. It pisses them off.”

Steve looks at them all, his screwed up, twisted, mismatched group of misfits, and loves them with every damn cell of his body.

“Hey,” he says, “do any of you guys actually care that Tony is Tony Stark?”

Tony whips around to him, mouth open, but Natasha waves him down. “Get over yourself, Stark. I found out two weeks after Steve introduced us.”

“Three months,” Clint says, raising his hand that isn’t over Natasha’s shoulder.

“Last year,” Darcy says.

“I have no idea what any of you are talking about,” Thor says, frowning, and Steve laughs.

“Great,” he says. “Glad we could put that to bed. So, Tony Stark! Nice to meet you.”

Tony looks down at the hand that Steve is holding out, and his mouth quirks up. “Are you serious?”

Steve just nods down at his hand.

Tony sighs, but takes Steve’s hand and starts to shake it. “Nice to meet you, Steve.”

Steve grins, and uses that hand to yank him in, kissing him sloppily and muffling Tony’s surprised yelp.

“ _Very_  nice to meet you,” Tony says into his mouth.

Steve can hear the rest of them making retching sounds around him, but he just shoves his hands into Tony’s hair and loves him, loves this, loves the Avengers and everything they’ve been through, everything they’re going to go through, and the stories they’re going to tell one day.

-

“And that,” Steve says, slapping his hands down, “was how I met your father.”

Both Grace and Sam look at each other with identical disgusted expressions.

“Pops,” Grace says, “No offence, but, like, 90% of that was completely unnecessary. And we figured out who everyone was halfway through.”

There’s a knock at the door, and they both look towards Sam.

“Oh, come  _on_ ,” Sam whines, sounding like Tony in the best way. “Door-opening is the stupidest job to dedicate to me, and I did it last time, and- Grace, I’m  _older_ -”

“Getting frostbite,” Tony yells from the other side of the door, and Sam slumps, groaning loudly as he pushes himself up off the couch.

Tony is smiling hugely when the door opens. “Hello, my favourite son!”

“Only son,” Sam mutters, but allows Tony to hug him, one-handed, as the other hand hauls a bag full of wrapped presents onto the counter.

Grace and Sam gravitate towards them, looking hopeful.

Grace pokes at one. “Hey, dad?”

Tony pecks her on the forehead. “In a minute, favourite daughter, I have to go over and ravish your father.”

He ignores their groaning, and drags Steve forwards into a kiss. “Hello, favourite husband. I made a new phone, what did you do today?”

Sam walks past them, reaching for an orange out of the fruit bowl. “He told us about you guys’s epic love story. You’re both idiots.”

“Agreed,” Tony sighs, kissing Steve again. “Steve was in denial about me for years.”

“Excuse me?  _I_  was-?”

“You’re excused,” Tony says, and turns around. “Devoted husband, loving children, you are required by law to help me put your shit under the tree.”

Grace and Sam pounce eagerly, but Tony steps in front of them. “ _Without_  peeking.”

They groan, and Steve watches them as they start to strip the bag away, loading the presents into their arms.

Steve goes over to slide his arms around Tony’s waist.

Tony turns slightly, ducking his head under his chin, pressing his mouth quickly to his neck. “You okay there, Cap?”

The old nickname makes him smile, and Steve hums. “Yeah. I’m just really glad I met you.”

Tony huffs quietly, but pushes closer. “Of course you are. Your life would be dull and boring without me, shelling out Avengers panels and getting obscenely wealthy. As opposed to now, where you’re shelling out Avengers panels, getting obscenely wealthy, and getting overshadowed by your multibillion dollar husband. I make things interesting.”

“I can live with that,” Steve says, and kisses his hair. “And Clint still doesn’t forgive you for lending Sophie some of it when she was fifteen.”

Tony snorts. “He’ll get over it. He has to; I’m paying for the holiday this year.”

Steve hums again, rocking them slightly, watching their kids discreetly try to peel some wrapping off of a present. “Grace, put it down.”

She looks up, making a face, but shoves it with the rest of them, under the tree. “Not even one? It’s Christmas Eve.”

“Exactly,” Steve says, over Tony’s shoulder. “Which makes it all the more magical tomorrow morning, when you wake up and find what Santa’s left.”

“Pops, Uncle Bruce ratted you guys out when we were six.”

“And he’s going to rot in hell for it, Sammy.” Steve kisses Tony again, on the back of his neck, and shifts so he can look at him. “And the others called while you were out, they’re getting in early.”

“How early?”

“Early as in they should be here in about half an hour. Darcy promises she’s definitely not going to forget them this time.”

Tony turns, grumbling into his neck. “Yeah, I bet. Fuck. Coulson’s going to yell at us for not swearing the stupid reindeer sweaters.”

“He’s not,” Steve says, “because we’re  _going_  to wear them, Tony.”

“Look, I know I’ve made questioning parenting choices, but I’m not making my kids wear those heinous things.”

“I don’t mind them,” Sam pipes up. “I think they’re festive.”

Tony pokes his tongue out at him. “That’s because you take after your Pops, and are therefore a scarily decent guy who would suffer through wearing wool for your uncle.”

“They’re sweaters, Dad. They’re not that bad.”

“I hate them,” Grace says flatly, leaning against the wall, her hair bouncing down her shoulders. “I think they should go and rot in a hole.”

Tony beams at Steve’s disapproving face. “See? Proof that the donors didn’t fuck up, and we have one each.”

Both Grace and Sam make a face at each other, and Steve leans Tony forwards, making him walk until they hit the couch and topple over, almost landing on Grace’s leg and making her yelp.

“Please don’t make out in front of us,” Sam begs. “Please, please,  _please_. I know you’re both rich, but even you two combined won’t have enough money for the therapy we’re both going to need when we’re older.”

Tony twists his head and starts laughing into Steve’s neck, and Steve looks down at him, at the lines in his face, the creases that Steve’s traced along too many times to count.

The knock on the door makes them all look up, and they all turn to stare at Sam again.

He squirms.

“SAM,” Natasha yells, and knocks again. “I KNOW YOU’RE IN THERE. IT’S YOUR JOB TO-”

“I KNOW, SHUT UP,” Sam yells back, already making for the door and swinging it open.

Natasha, Pepper and Clint slide past him, and Clint dumps two bags onto the table. “Kids, unload.”

“We’re not your slaves.”

Clint taps Grace on the nose, and reaches to pull off his scarf. “You’re their spawn, so you’re as good as. Until you hit eighteen, you obey our every whim.”

“Therapy,” Sam mutters, banging his head against the table. “Therapy, therapy, therapy.”

Pepper smacks a kiss onto his cheek, then Grace’s. “I hope they weren’t too hellish for you.”

Grace lifts an eyebrow, and Pepper has to stop herself from smiling at how it makes her think back to her days as Tony’s assistant. “Today, Pops told us how he met Dad. In  _length_. And it wasn’t even how he  _met_  him. Jesus Christ, Dad, did you seriously not tell him who you were for  _six years_?”

“Again,” Tony says, pulling Steve back down to the couch. “I was emotionally retarded. Totally your granddad’s fault. Blame him.”

Grace rolls her eyes towards him. “Sure, dad, I’ll just go down to the cemetery and start dancing on his grave. You’re a great influence.”

“He’s a terrible influence,” Pepper sighs. “But at least he didn’t teach his daughter how to _strangle a man using dental floss_.”

“One time,” Clint says, raising his hands. “Natasha taught me, and I wanted to pass on the next generation-”

Natasha smacks him lightly on the back of his head. “I  _said_  we’re not teaching her lethal techniques until she’s at least  _sixteen_ , and what do you do? No wonder she’s at Peggy’s this year.”

“Yeah, and all Peggy will do is teach her how to kill people using  _scented_  dental floss.”

“Stop the violence,” Steve says, slotting his hand between them. “There are young, impressionable eyes watching.”

“Hypocrite.”

Darcy, Bruce and Coulson slam the door against the wall as they come in, and Darcy looks around at everyone, the tip of her nose cherry red from the cold. “Wow. Knew I forgot something.”

“You left us at the airport,” Pepper says, “for three hours.  _Again_.”

Darcy lifts her hands helplessly. “Oops?”

Pepper’s lips thin, but Grace butts in before she can say anything, hugging Darcy around her shoulders. “Hey, Auntie Darce.”

“Hey, niblet,” Darcy replies, ruffling Grace’s hair when she leans back.

Grace hugs Coulson the same way, and he squeezes her slightly. “Keeping out of trouble, Gracey?”

“She’s Tony, except prettier and younger,” Clint says, kissing Darcy on the cheek and taking her bag. “What do you think?”

Tony sniffs. “I’m pretty.”

“I know, I just said she was prett _ier_. Hey, Bruce.”

Bruce lifts a hand, and accepts the shortcake when Pepper holds it out. “Hey, all.”

Thor bustles in shortly after, bellowing about the bounty of this year and how Pepper’s shortcake is the food of the gods, to which Pepper shoves him gently.

Clint and Natasha lie on the couch opposite Steve and Tony, Clint’s hand threading absently through Tony’s hair and laughing quietly when Bruce and Tony start bickering over whatever the hell they bicker about- none of them understand their science talk.

The door opens again about ten minutes later, and Peggy smiles at them, dragging Sophie into view.

“Uh,” Sophie says, pushing her hair out of her face. “Hi?”

“She whined for three hours,” Peggy says flatly. “I had to bring her.”

Clint raises her eyebrows at his daughter. “You okay, Soph?”

She shrugs, twisting her hair around a finger. That girl and her hair. “Yeah, I just- I know I’ve been all independent since college, but- come on, I’m not going to miss Christmas with the Avengers. Besides, Billy promised me an awesome present this year.”

“Out of luck,” Darcy says over her wine. “He’s with Teddy, his  _boooooyfriend_.”

Sophie gapes for a second, before snapping her mouth shut. “He went through his sexual crisis without  _telling_  me?”

“He was going to,” Tony says, “he just got distracted. He came and talked to Steve, being as he’s married to a man and isn’t as terrifying as me. It was adorable. You can go over and bitch at him tomorrow, okay?”

She grits her teeth. “Fine.” She nods at Grace and Sam, raising a hand. “Hey, guys.”

“Hey,” they say in unison.

Peggy closes the door behind them, and starts over towards Darcy’s annual gingerbread house, which gets steadily crazier each year. This year, it has snowmen mobbing a gingerbread man, who has a marshmellow-gun in his hand.

“Never fails to disappoint,” Grace says, dipping her finger in the icing and being batted away by Darcy, who is forever vigilant about her gingerbread houses.

Steve leans back, his hand curling around Tony’s shoulders, and breathes it in:

Darcy is arguing with Thor over whether they should eat the gingerbread house now or later- she always tries as late as she can get it, because she’s fine with staring at it until it goes rotten- Clint is catching up with Sophie while Natasha fills the drinks, and Bruce is talking with Grace about her latest science project.

Sam is sitting off to the side, texting Billy, from what it looks like; and Coulson is rummaging through the fridge, and Pepper and Peggy are grinning at each other over a glass of wine- combined with Natasha, they’re dubbed The Unholy Three.

Tony shifts in his arms. “I know that look. You’re totally having a moment.”

“I love this,” Steve says, and feels Tony smile into his arm. “I’m remembering all the Christmases we’ve spent together.”

“And the ones we haven’t suffered through yet,” Tony says, his voice muffled by Steve’s shirt. “You always say that. Well, not the suffering part.”

“Definitely not the suffering part,” Steve agrees.

They sit in silence for a few seconds, watching the fire spit happily a few feet away, and generally feeling incredibly content.

Tony says suddenly, “I still think we should have a reality show.”

Steve barks out a laugh, which sets Tony off, giggling into his shirt, and after a few seconds, everyone looks up to where they’re laughing so loud it’s echoing slightly.

Clint blinks. “I think someone broke them.”

“Bound to happen eventually,” Darcy says, slapping Thor on the wrist when he tries to steal a cookie.

Steve chokes, sucks in a breath, and reaches down to jostle Tony back into his arms. “Sorry. Just- happy.”

People share glances, and Darcy rolls her eyes. “That’s going to be the lamest Christmas toast ever.”

“I concur,” Bruce says. “But I also think it’d be pretty awesome.”

“No.”

“Yes. Everyone pick up your drinks.”

There’s a thirty-second bustle where everyone makes towards the punch bowl, and rearrange themselves on the furniture.

“We are gathered here today,” Bruce says finally, lofting his drink, “to celebrate Christmas with our loved ones. Or most of them, anyway. I feel- incredibly blessed to have you all in my life, and-”

“Oh, my  _god_ ,” Tony says. “Bruce, hurry the fuck up so we can demolish Darcy’s gingerbread house.”

Darcy glares with enough force to rival Pepper.

Steve nudges him, and picks up his drink. “Bruce, you mind if I-”

“Go ahead. You’re the notorious Tony-tamer.”

Steve gives him the eye, and Bruce just gestures towards his glass.

“I also feel incredibly blessed,” Steve says, ignoring Tony’s groan, “to have you all in my life. And not just because I got rich off of my panels based off of you.”

“Amen,” Clint says, and whoops.

He cringes when Natasha steps on his foot.

Natasha kisses her husband on the cheek; wipes off the lipstick. “Sorry, Steve. Continue.”

“And,” Steve says, “I can’t wait for what’s to come. I wouldn’t trade this for anything, and you’re all the best family a guy could ask for. Now, let’s leap savagely on Darcy’s gingerbread house before she decides it’s too good for any of us and throws it out the window like last year.”

Darcy moves protectively towards it, but Bruce gives her a look over his glasses and she gives up, pushing herself against the wall as everyone starts to grab for a piece.

“I have dibs on the homicidal snowman,” Grace yells.

“I have dibs on the suicidal one,” Sam yells, and lets out a triumphant cry when his hand locks around it.

Steve smiles, and turns to ask Tony is he wants a piece, but stops when he sees his expression. “What?”

“Nothing,” Tony says, still with that dopey smile. “I’m just really glad I met you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had a lot of fun with this fic, and I love you very much if you took the time to read it. Also, hey, Kate.

**Author's Note:**

> SHHHHH YES I KNOW IT SAYS 'HOW I MET YOUR FATHER' AND HE ALREADY KNOWS TONY BUT IT'LL MAKE SENSE IN THE END OKAY JUST BEAR WITH ME ILY GUYS
> 
> Find me here at my [tumblr.](http://theappleppielifestyle.tumblr.com)


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